


Lonely Just Like Me

by Rainah (RainahFiclets)



Series: Lonely 'verse [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Closeted Character, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Police Brutality, Prostitution, References to underage and coercive sex, Sex Work, sex worker slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainahFiclets/pseuds/Rainah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look, John wasn't cruising, ok? He wasn't looking for a hookup. He's no stranger to the idea of paying for sex, but it wasn't on his mind until he saw the boy leaning against a lamp post.</p><p>Alex wasn't intending to fall in love. God, that's the worst hooker-cliche he can think of. John's just like any other client. He is completely able to deliver a Boyfriend Experience to his clients without getting his <i>feelings</i> involved. </p><p>Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rules of Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops another WIP. First chapter is unbeta'd
> 
> Long form warnings - There's a lot of implication of bad things rather than bad things being shown. Drug use is discussed briefly. Sexual assault is discussed, and some rape-culture-y ideas are thrown out. Discussions and implied minors in sex work. Discussion of sexual exploitation of minors. Sometimes main characters are dicks and get called on it.
> 
> The author studies sex work at a university level, and most of the fic draws from research and interviews with sex workers. I cited sources whenever possible. Though Alex wants to leave the industry this fic is not anti-sex work, and is in favour of decriminalization of sex work.
> 
> Those are the long form warnings - now go forth an enjoy vaguely trashy angst

Look, John wasn’t cruising ok? He wasn’t looking for a hookup. In fact he’d just gotten back from an _awful_ blind date, in some little Thai place on the other side of town, and he just wanted to go home. If he was looking for anything, it was directions back to 5th avenue.

At the same time, though, he’s a closeted gay man in New York. It’s not as if he’d never heard of such a concept. Everyone needs stress relief, and he needs stress relief he can guarantee won’t go running to his father. _Paid_ stress relief, with a vested interest in discretion. It’s not a common thing, but every few months he’ll browse an adult site and text a number he finds there.

It’s safe. It’s fun. And, most importantly, it’s discreet. His father never has to know. It may have been several months since he’s last done something like that, but there are only so many dates he can go on with women before something in him has to give.

This is what happens tonight:

He turns the corner off a shady street, onto an even shadier one. (This isn’t the nice part of New York - it’s gentleman’s clubs and run down bars and corner stores that locked up as soon as it gets dark). He sees a flash of dark eyes on the street corner and turns to look. Huge doe eyes, tan skin, and inky black hair that falls artfully in his face. He looks, at most, 20. The boy is just standing there, leaning against the streetlight like he belongs there.

Which, John supposes, he does. 

He slows the car, opens the window to get a better look at the boy.

God, he’s pretty. Not conventionally attractive - his nose is a little too large, all his features are a little out of proportion to his face, and there’s a little bit of extra weight around his middle - but between the large, expressive eyes and the dark hair he kept pushing away from his face John is hooked.

The boy ambles over, clearly interested, and John asks the traditional question.

“Are you working?”

He gets a snort. “If I weren’t working would I be wearing these pants?” They are sinfully tight, black denim that clings to every curve. “Yes.”

“How much?” He’ll have to go to the bank, he doesn’t keep that much money in his wallet - a few hundred, sure, for emergencies, but-

“Depends what you want.” The boy says, pursing his lips. It’s absurdly attractive. “Starts at thirty.”

“Per hour?” Surely not.

“Per ‘act’.” The boy actually does air quotes around it. “Generally, I don’t go by the hour.”

Ok. This is new, but he can roll with this. The boy in front of him is incredibly attractive, even (especially) in his long-suffering sarcasm. “How much for the night then?”

The boy hesitates, rocking back on his heels before saying, “A thousand. Cash.”

That’s still far less than John is expecting. “Get in. I’ll get a hotel? And I need to stop by an ATM.”

“There’s a motel 6 two blocks over.” the boy says casually as he scrambles in the car. 

John winces. “I can take us somewhere nicer, if you’d prefer.” 

“Sure.” He yawns, pushing his hair back yet again. “You’re paying, mister. What do I call you?”

“John,” He says, unable to think of anything better on the fly. “What can I call you?”

“Alex.” The boy says simply.

John realizes too late that he should have said _call me J_. Close enough to his real name and still anonymous. Too late now. He gets 1200 out of the machine, cash, and takes them to the Hyatt. That he pays for by card.

Alex’s eyes are wide as he takes in the Hyatt - the chandeliers, the fountain, the crazy print of the carpet. Then his face settles: first into something hard, and then into an easy smile. “Should have known you were a high roller.”

“Used to paying more, I guess.” John shrugs as he heads towards the elevator. The clerk behind the counter was too polite to say anything, but he can feel the stares. Its as if there’s a giant neon sign above his head saying _I JUST PAID FOR SEX. I AM TWENTY THREE AND UNABLE TO GET LAID ANY OTHER WAY._

Well. He hasn’t paid Alex yet. 

Alex, who isn’t wearing very much at all. Black jeans that might have been painted on. (John’s not sure, actually, how he plans to get them off.) A tissue-thin white shirt that’s tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination. As they’re walking he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it around Alex’s shoulders. 

Alex grins, sharp and somehow hungry. “And here I thought you were a first timer. You didn’t try and grope me in the car, that’s usually a good indication,” he shrugs, then looks up at John through his eyelashes.

The sight makes John’s mouth go dry. “How- How does this work?” He asks, as the doors open onto their floor and they make their way to room 1412.

Alex just shrugs again. “However you want? You have me till dawn.”

“Do you have any rules?” John asks, because he’s never met a sex worker who didn’t have rules. Usually long lists of them. John’s never minded - he prefers things to be clear from the beginning.

“Not really.” They arrive at 1412. Alex plucks the room card from John’s fingers, giving him a cheeky grin. “Just warn me before you do anything freaky, so I can charge you extra.” He opens the door, breathing in sharply. “This is…”

“I like the Hyatt.” John agrees, taking in the wide bed fluffed up with pillows, the soft carpeting, the gorgeous view. It’s definitely a great place to spend an evening. Especially with such pleasant company. 

“There’s a jet tub!” Alex exclaimed, darting into the bathroom. “Definitely big enough to have sex in.”

“Right.” John says, a bit alarmed. He doesn’t want to have sex in a bathtub. “You still haven’t told me your rules.”

“Rules.” Alex darts up onto the bed, collapsing dramatically onto the pillows and then peaking out at John. He pouts. “You seem awful hung up on rules.”

“They’re-” Alex pulls that tight little shirt off and John’s brain nearly short circuits at the miles of tawny skin exposed. God, he wants to kiss and lick and _bite_ \- “They’re important.”

“Only if I say they are.” Alex leans back on the bed. “Want to help me out of these jeans?”

“I-” He had been going to say something. He really had. Instead John just walks slowly towards Alex and places his hands on the man’s jean-clad knees. Alex lets his legs fall open, beckoning with a single raised eyebrow.

No. This is wrong. “No more,” John says firmly, “Until I hear rules. What you like and don’t like.”

Alex lets out a sound of frustration. “You are the weirdest client I’ve ever had.”

_Fair. You’re the weirdest sex worker I’ve ever had._

“A grand gets me whatever I want, right?” John checks.

“Yep.”

“I want to have an honest conversation with you about your likes and dislikes before we have sex.”

“Fine. Mr Bigshot, all used to _escorts_.” Alex huffs. It should be insulting, John thinks, but really it’s only endearing him more. There’s a sense of realness about Alex, a raw honesty that runs through the man. “I like most kinds of sex. Giving or receiving. Condoms if it’s penetrative, I have my own. And lube. I like to talk during, but I can be quiet if that’s not your thing?” he glances sideways.

“That’s definitely my thing.” John reassures him. It’s really, really his thing. 

“Cool.” Alex flips the hair out of his eyes. “I’m good with whatever weird requests you come up with - I’ve been doing this long enough that I’ve probably seen weirder. When it comes to kink I’ll top but not bottom - I don’t like clients tying me up, hitting me, whatever. They make for lousy aftercare.”

“Right.” Part of him wants to ask for some clarification, there, because Alex didn’t say _I didn’t like it_ just _clients tend to be bad at it_. But he can’t figure out a way to do it and not sound like an idiot. It’s not as if he wants anything other than vanilla sex and some cuddling anyways. “Do you kiss?”

“This isn’t _Pretty Woman_. I’ll do whatever you pay me to do.”

“Except get tied up.” John shoots back.

He’s a little shocked to see Alex shrug again. “You gave me a thousand dollars. If you really wanted to - yeah, I probably would.” 

“Right. Well, we won’t do that.”

“Such a gentleman.” Alex wiggles his hips on the bed. “Now, are you going to help me out of these jeans? I actually can’t take them off without help.”

It works. John laughs and complies. He strips Alex bare, tentatively kissing the skin that gets exposed and getting bolder as he goes. Alex tastes like sweat and smoke and something heady John can’t help but identify as _male_. It’s addictive. It’s why he does this, keeps looking for something - any part of this that he can have, if only for a night.

The sex is simple, uncomplicated. John finds out Alex is telling the truth when he says he likes most things. He lets John suck him off and then spends an hour kissing every damn freckle until John’s straining and desperate. Alex is talking the whole time, telling John how gorgeous he is, how well he’s doing, how much Alex is enjoying this. And then there’s just a hint of pressure on John’s wrists to hold him to the bed and John ends up coming all over himself.

If you ask, John will still call it great sex. The way Alex had laughed, the way he’d whispered _you look so beautiful like this, John, I love having you like this, that I’m the one who gets to see you looking like this_. Maybe it’s not porn-worthy, but he’s never liked that anyway.

Alex is even nice enough to get up and get a cloth. He wipes them both down, flops down onto the bed and pulls a battered-looking phone out. “Let me know when you need me again I guess.”

“You’re not sleepy?” John can barely keep his eyes open. He reaches out, plaintively, but Alex has his back turned. 

“Night shift. And this place has free wifi, I’m not wasting that.” The brush of John’s wanting fingertips reaches his waist, just brushing the skin there. It makes Alex jump. John jerks his hand back like it’s been burned. “Oh. Did you want me to-”

“-You don’t have to, enjoy the wifi, I’ll sleep.”

“It’s ok, hey,” Alex reaches out, pulls John towards him until his head is in the man’s lap. Very carefully, Alex’s hand starts to work its way through John’s curls. “How about like this? You can sleep, I can catch up on twitter.”

“Sure.” John yawns again. This is nice. Having his hair petted, sated, laying in the lap of a cute boy that in some other world could have been his boyfriend.

“Poke me when you want round two,” Alex reminds him. “Like I said, you paid for all night.”

John huffs. “Sleep now.” Round two sounded appealing… in the distant future. In the morning, maybe.

“I feel bad taking all your money.” Alex says softly as John drifts off. “That was like, $100 worth of sex. Tops. I feel like you should be asking me for a refund or something.”

“Shh.” John hushes him. “Worth it for this.” For having someone there. Someone who, even briefly, sees him for what he was and doesn’t disapprove. With one last smile, he drifts off to sleep.


	2. Practicalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Really, sometimes he doesn’t even miss the life he had before. (That’s a lie–he misses it, all the time. Even though adult-Alex knows everything was a lie, there’s some part of him that is still sixteen and hopelessly in love.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to [Chloe](http://unforgivingemotions.tumblr.com/) who beta'd this hardcore.
> 
> You may notice the warnings for this fic changed from "no archive warnings" to "choose not to use archive warnings". This is because there will be some references to underage sex and underage prostitution - Alex was sixteen when he started (Note: he is definitely not underage now) and Pierre is currently 17. It will be referenced and discussed but I do not consider it to be a large part of the fic.

There are only a few rules when it comes to sleeping with people for money. Everyone has their own rules, of course; there’s no _Hooker Code Of Honour_ , regardless of what some tell their clients. There’s just… whatever rules you make up for yourself.

In the beginning, Alex had a lot of rules. Rules like _no staying overnight_ and rules that said _I don’t do this or that._ Time has worn most of those away — time, and money. Now he has three rules:

 _Keep your work life and your home life separate._ When he’s working a legitimate job, that means no screwing coworkers on the sly. When he’s screwing people for money, that means no screwing them for free. No taking them back to his crappy little apartment, no meeting them for drinks, no walking them home. He gets paid, has sex, and goes home. The end.

 _Better to be alive and without of a job than dead_. Or, in short, _don’t do anything stupid._ If there’s a bad feeling in his stomach, Alex gets out _fast_. You can jump out of a moving vehicle, if you’re careful and don’t mind scrapes and bruises. It’s an unpleasant necessity of this type of work. Alex has bailed on more jobs than he can count, but he’s not dead in an alley yet.

And finally, _payment before services rendered,_ which led him to his current problem: the mess of curls and freckles cuddled into his lap hasn’t paid him yet.

 _Stupid_. He may try to keep clients and hookups as separate as possible, but if John hadn’t been one he could have easily been the other. Alex doesn’t have a type, per say, but big doe eyes and freckles are definitely something he can get behind. Especially when they are accompanied by blushes and manners. Most of his clients are some mix of jaded and/or douchebag, so John is really a breath of fresh air.

A breath of fresh air that owes him a thousand dollars before he leaves. Alex combs his hand through John’s curls, smiling softly when the man in his lap snuffles. “John? Hey, baby, it’s time to get up.” John mumbles something and burrows his face into Alex’s thigh. On a whim, Alex shifts the hand in John’s hair and gives a little tug.

John _whines_ , nuzzling his thigh again before turning over and blinking questioningly up at him. “Hi there,” Alex says.

“Hey.” His voice is rough from sleep. “Is it morning yet?”

“Just about, baby.” Alex traces a finger down his cheek, resisting the urge to poke all the freckles he sees. 

“Cool,” John yawns. “Lets order room service.”

 _Costs extra._ The words are on the tip on his tongue. _If you want me to stay, it costs extra._ But, on the other hand, the food here is surely delicious, and John hasn’t actually paid him yet. He doesn’t want to risk pissing him off and losing all of it.

“Okay,” Alex says instead, reaching for a menu. “Is there anything...else you want to do?”

“This is nice.” Then John leans up, hesitantly, and kisses him. Alex expects that to be a smooth segue into more sex — all the things they didn’t get to last night — but John pulls back with a smile. “Breakfast?”

Alex is definitely down for breakfast. John orders smoked salmon on a bagel, and Alex gets the waffles. There’s a feeling of mischief in the air, the delightful fun that is sitting in an absurdly expensive hotel room as well-dressed waiters bring food. Waffles. He can’t remember the last time he’s had waffles.

Alex glances over at John, who’s shyly tracing a hand up and down the skin of Alex’s bare chest. He grabs that hand and presses a kiss to it. The motion seems to make John happy, as he smiles and blushes again before leaning over to kiss Alex with a pleased hum.

Alex grins. “Want to take this into the bath?” He can have sex in a bathtub as easily as he can on the bed, and he’d enjoy hot water that won’t run out. Which reminds him that he probably should have washed his hair, like, two days ago. Oops.

“Sure?” John agrees, making it sound more like a question than an affirmation. Yet he still obliges, letting Alex set the temperature and hissing when he steps in.

“I like it hot,” Alex says, winking for good measure. John flushes. “So what’s your story?” he asks, as John maneuvers to lay back against his chest in the large tub. He turns the jets on and Alex has to bite back a groan. They feel _amazing_ , somehow managing to hit all the sore spots on his poor body.

“What do you mean?” John leans his head back, wet curls tickling against Alex’s neck and yeah, that feels amazing too.

Really, it’s a crime this man’s turned to hookers at all. “What I mean is, was no one in the gay clubs good enough for you?” John turns to look at him, startled. “What? You’re young, you’re hot, you don’t have any weird kinks. You’re not a virgin. You have enough free time to pay me to spend the night. I don’t get it. You have a wife or something?”

John and shudders at the thought, almost reflexively. Alex laughs. “Alright, no wife. But why aren’t you picking guys up at some bar called _The Glow Spider_ —”

“—Is _glow spider_ a metaphor for a dick because—”

“—No, but I’m impressed that’s where your mind went.” There’s a pause as they grin like idiots at one another across the tub. Then John drops his eyes.

It’s shame. And suddenly, Alex knows. “You don’t have a wife, but everyone still thinks you’re straight.”

John’s mouth twists into something unhappy, something almost angry. Alex braces, but all John says is “Yeah.” 

It seems like a crime to put an expression like that on such a handsome face. And since Alex is working right now, he leans forward to kiss the frown away. “Hey, I love closeted guys.”

“You do?”

“Sure. They pay on time and don’t complain.” They’re also almost painfully inexperienced, to the point of Alex nearly tearing his hair out at one guy’s inability to comprehend lube ( _Trust me, friction there is not your friend and it doesn’t lubricate itself— look, just give it to me, I’ll do it_ )

He’s hoping John will get the hint ( _pay me_ ) but all he says is, “Right. Can I wash your hair?”

“Anything you want, babe.” They switch positions and John grabs the shampoo by the tub, pouring a generous amount onto Alex’s head and starting to work it in. He has good hands, fingers strong and sure and calloused in a way Alex isn’t expecting from a rich boy.

He’s just starting to relax when John says, “What’s your story then?”

Well, he walked into that one.

Thankfully, it’s not the first time Alex has gotten the question. Somehow, anyone who spends more than three hours with him always wants to know: why did you become a prostitute? What happened to all of your great promise? What sad story brought you here, selling your soul on the streets of New York?

He doesn’t have a sad story. It just kind of… happened. One thing lead to another. That’s not the kind of answer John wants, though. Alex hedges his bets, edging closer in the tub.

“Well, there was a boy…” 

“A boy?”

“I actually do like men, that’s not a put-on.” It was for enough of his fellows. He didn’t judge; male clients are a lot more common than female, especially for anyone who’s working on the street.

“That’s not what I was asking. How did a boy result in,” John makes a vague hand gesture, “This?”

 _As if I’m going to tell you._ “Why John,” He purrs instead, turning, “I think that’s more of a third date sort of question, wouldn’t you?”

That earns him a smile. “I thought it was sex on the third date.” 

“You’re in my world now, baby,” Alex smirks, shifting back against John’s body. He’s hard. Good. “We have sex on the first date and talk on the third. Speaking of, you know I can give a blowjob underwater?”

John’s eyes widen in mild alarm. “I don’t think that sounds very- very safe. Or sanitary.”

“It’s sanitary if you swallow. Want to see?” His hands, underneath the water, had already started moving.

John moans. It’s a needy sound, wanting and desperate. “Come on, John,” Alex encourages, “I need to hear you say yes. You like rules, I’m assuming consent was on there.”

“ _Yes_ ,” John pants, “Yes yes yes. _Please_.”

“Hands off my hair,” Alex warns. “If I’m underwater, keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yes,”John acknowledges.

“Alright. Prepare to be amazed.”

Andre had once told him that the average blowjob lasts 15 minutes. Underwater blowjobs, constrained as they are, take less. When administered by a determined and highly skilled Alexander Hamilton, he barely has to take breathing breaks at all.

He’s careful: not a single spot of mess in the tub.

By the time they get out, breakfast is waiting: an array of delicious, fruit topped waffles and a whole urn of coffee (Thank _God_ ). They eat the the food lazily in bed, which leads to Alex licking the residue off John’s fingers while waggling his eyebrows. Which leads to John drip-dropping a little more syrup onto Alex’s skin and licking _that_ off. Which leads to round three of sex.

Finally, there is no more food to be eaten or sex to be had. John has him stretched out on the bed, kissing languidly. “I have to go,” he says reluctantly. “I have class at noon, and I have to go home first.”

“Ok,” Alex tries not to shrug. It’s a fact of life, clients come and clients go—even the ones who are good in bed. He looks at John expectantly. 

“What?” John stops.

 _Is he the idiot here, or am I?_ “You haven’t paid me,” Alex points out. 

“Oh!” When John flushes red, it trails all the way down his chest. “I have it, I swear, just give me...” He glances down for his wallet, realizes he’s still not wearing pants, and drops to the ground to dig out it out. 

“Here!” John says, thrusting a large stack of bills at him.

Alex counts it quickly. Twice, to be sure. “This is too much.”

“A grand for the night, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Alex holds out ten 20 dollar bills. “You gave me $1200.”

“Do you not accept tips?”

“Do I– God damn, John, take it,” Alex forces the extra 200 dollars into his hands. “That’s what you agreed. I’m a whore, not an escort.” For some reason it’s this–the extra money, the tip for good service–that makes him angry.

But he swallows it down as he gets dressed, because he has to. John is wealthy, young and lonely, and could very well become a regular if he plays his cards right. An extra thousand dollars occasionally would be a very good thing indeed. So as he finishes pulling on his clothes he kisses John one last time, soundly and thoroughly. Something for John to remember him by.

“I’ll see you around, John. You know where to find me,” Alex says. He makes sure to swing his hips on his way out the door.

Really, sometimes he doesn’t even miss the life he had before. (That’s a lie–he misses it, all the time. Even though adult-Alex knows everything was a lie, there’s some part of him that is still sixteen and hopelessly in love.)

He checks his phone on the subway. There’s one message at the top that he deals with immediately:

_From: Angel_  
_Tonight, same time same place_

_From: Alex_  
_Same price. See you at 8_

Fine. He has just enough time to go home and get ready before taking the long trip across the river into New Jersey. He fires off a quick text to Maria: _If anyone else starts expecting me to bus out to Jersey I am going to start charging travel fees_ , and looks to see what else is there for him.

_From: Andre_  
_Saw you get into the car of a PYT last night. Any good?_

He knows what Andre’s asking. Not whether the sex was good; neither of them care about that. But whether or not John–his “Pretty Young Thing”–had paid well.

_From: Alex_  
_1k good_

_From: Andre_  
_Damn Braveheart, what did you do for that?_

_From: Alex_  
_Hooker code of ethics ;)_  
_Tried to tip me he’s too used to your kind_

_From: Andre_  
_Pretty, gentlemanly AND pays well? I may have to meet this one_

Alex snorts. As if he’s going to let Andre poach another one of his clients. 

The bus ride home is long, and there’s no way he can fit a book into any of the pockets on his person. Alex stares determinedly out the window, trying not to make eye contact. Once he is off the bus, it’s a short hike through the grid of Upper Manhattan to the little apartment he shares with Pierre. 

“Honey, I’m home!” he calls as he enters. No answer. Figures. There’s a note on the table.

_Alex,_

_Out with Friedrich for the weekend :) The tap is leaking and the heat’s been making a funny noise. And it’s your turn to buy condoms. See you monday._

_\- Pierre_

Well damn, Alex thinks as he crumples the note. It seems like everyone was getting lucky this weekend. He tosses the note in the garbage, resolves to deal with maintenance in the morning, and goes immediately to bed. The sun is up, he was out all night, and he’s earned this.

And if his last thought before closing his eyes is of a certain freckled face? It doesn’t matter.

Alex doesn’t mix work and pleasure, that’s a rule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man between this fic ("Are underwater blowjobs technically possible") and the first witness ("Patricide legal defense") my google search history is all kinds of messed up.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are loved. You can find my tumblr [here](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/) where I talk about Hamilton more than is healthy.


	3. The Boyfriend Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So?” John says valiantly. “Sex workers do that, don’t they? The Boyfriend Experience.”_
> 
> _“Mmm,” Alex hums, “Some do. Sex with a side of cuddling and dinner.”_
> 
> _“Or cuddling and dinner with a side of sex,” John hedges._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shout-out to [Chloe](http://unforgivingemotions.tumblr.com/), a great beta who puts up with my nonsense. And everyone else who lets me bounce stuff off them. 
> 
> Chapter also contains a minor discussion of drug use in addition to previous warnings.
> 
> As I didn't do it at the beginning of the last chapter, here are your Historical Figures Rounding Out The Story:
> 
> Andre is John Andre, a Major in the revolutionary army who's dominant personality trait seemed to be charming the pants off everyone he met. Seriously, everyone wanted this guy (Except for John Laurens, who I suspect was jealous of the long letters Alex was sending him about Andre's _noble character_ )
> 
> Pierre is Pierre-Étienne du Ponceau, Baron Von Stuben's boyfriend/sugar baby during the war. He's 17 here, the same age as when historical Pierre moved to America. In this fic, he is Filipino-American.
> 
> Charles is Charles Adams, the son of John Adams. He was gay, and actually had a relationship with the son of Hercules Mulligan. They ran off together, Charles got disowned, and he ended up going back and trying to be straight. He died young due to alcohol addiction.

It’s more than a month until John sees Alex again.

Which is fine. He’s not looking for Alex. It was a transaction, just like all the other times he’s bought sex - to expect to see Alex again would be silly. He got his fix; he’s fine for a while.

He still finds himself driving through that neighbourhood. Totally by accident–Laf had needed a record player to play their weird French pop music, and the store here was having a sale. And he had to go to class first, so it made perfect sense that he would be driving slowly down a busy street in a bad neighbourhood after dark.

The excuses fool no one, not even John. He wants to see Alex again. He has one thousand dollars in his pocket as he turns onto the street he last saw Alex, eyes searching the pavement.

There! Right beside two other young men who are obviously plying the same trade. One looks young–very young–skinny and fine-boned, . The other is white and blonde, and looks like he could grace the cover of Vogue without a single raised eyebrow.

As John watches, a car pulls up to the curb. Whoever’s in it shouts something at Alex. John freezes, ready to go over and defend his honour (or offer him more money than whoever’s in the car), but Alex just laughs at whatever was said. He glances back towards his fellows, and the young boy comes trotting over. Another brief conversation, and the boy get in the car. Alex flips off the license plate as they drive away.

John’s not going to give someone else the chance to take Alex away tonight. He pulls up by the same curb, earning an interested look from the blonde and a skeptical look from Alex. “John?”

“Are you working tonight?” John asks. He knows the answer, but he still had to ask. It was only polite, after all.

“I’m wearing the pants, aren’t I?” Alex spins on the spot, showing off the impossibly tight jeans. “You want a round? A hundred, whatever you want.”

Behind him, the blonde raises an eyebrow. John ignores him in favour of focusing on Alex. “How about the night again?”

Alex hesitates. “I can’t,” he says finally, but he steps closer to the car, until his arms are braced against the door and he’s leaning in the window. “But I can give you the time of your life for an hour or two. You don’t take longer than that, and we can still go to your fancy hotel.”

A voice behind him calls, “If Braveheart doesn’t want to, I’m in.” 

“Suck a dick, Andre!” Alex calls over his shoulder. “Sorry,” he adds to John.

“Why not? You didn’t have a problem before,” John continues as if the man–Andre–hasn’t spoken. He knows he’s pushing, and it’s probably of dick thing to do, but he can’t help it. The idea of giving Alex a hundred dollars for a blowjob by the side of the road is… distasteful. It’s not what he wants sex to be.

Alex runs a hand through his hair. “I might have somewhere to be tonight, ok? If my phone rings, I have to answer it.”

That’s all? “You can answer your phone,” John says. “How likely is it that it’s going to ring?”

“I don’t know, ok?” John can’t help but think he looks agitated, rocking back onto his heels as he ponders. “I want to, but...”

Now isn’t the time to hesitate. John reaches into his pocket, pulls out the money, and holds it out. “A thousand. If you have to take a call, that’s fine. If you have to go, that’s fine. We’ll work it out.”

Alex meets his eyes for a long moment. Then he turns sharply, grabbing his bag, and gets in the car. “You’re going to be the death of me, John.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” John pulls out onto the road, heading deeper into the city. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Haven’t decided. And no, of course not.” Alex rides in the car with one hand on the door. It doesn’t seem to be something he’s doing consciously. “Where are we going? Back to your fancy hotel?”

“Different place. And I was thinking, first, Chipotle? Do you eat meat?” He glances over; Alex is fighting back a laugh. “Oh come on, not like that!”

“You walked into that one John,” Alex says with a grin. John likes his smile: it’s equal parts mischief and blazing sincerity. He doesn’t seem the type to let someone see it without a good reason.

John buys them both an obscene amount of takeout food, then gets another one-night stay at a (less fancy but still nice) hotel. This time he puts his jacket around Alex’s shoulders before they go in, and no one gives them dirty looks.

They spread the food out on the bed, eating in silence for the most part. Alex’s fingers are dancing up and down John’s leg, but he’s not pushing for any more right now.

“So who’s your caller?” John asks, trying for casual. He doesn’t know how to ask _Is it your pimp?_ without sounding rude. “Regular?”

Alex sends him a scathing look. “A friend.”

That doesn’t seem right. Who jumps for the phone the second their friend calls? John opens his mouth to protest, but Alex beats him to it.

“A friend who needs a little help sometimes. I don’t know if tonight is one of those nights, but if he needs me I have to go. My turn,” he fixes those beautiful dark eyes on John, “Who are you that you can blow two thousand dollars on hookers in just over a month?”

John chokes on his burrito bowl. “Trust fund,” he manages to get out between coughs. Alex leans forward to pat him on the back. “And no one really cares what I use it for provided I’m still going to school.”

“Must be nice,” Alex hums noncommittally. “Your mom and dad in business?”

“It’s just dad,” John shrugs, tries to look casual. “Mom died a few years ago.”

“Oh,” Alex says, and then, “Me too. My mom, I mean.”

“I’m sorry.” Something else they had in common. A tragedy. He wonders, for a moment, if that had something to do with what brought Alex here to New York City. _A third date question_ , Alex had called it.

“You’re a student?” Alex asks next. He’s demolished his food and is starting on the chips, dipping each one very carefully in salsa before popping them into his mouth. It’s weirdly charming.

“Yeah. Just started medical school.” Alex lets out an impressed whistle and John smiles ruefully. “I know. My dad wanted me to go into law. _I_ wanted to be an artist. Medical school was a compromise we could both live with.”

“Cool. Your dad is the reason you’re not...” Alex waves a hand vaguely at John.

“At _The Glow Spider_?”

“Yeah.” Alex ducks his head. His hair, hanging loose tonight, shields his face from view. John has an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch it.

So he does. Leans over, runs a hand through the hair and brushes it back behind Alex’s ear. It’s like silk in his hands, soft and flowing. He almost doesn’t want to let go as he sits back and regards Alex.

“My dad is a senator,” John admits reluctantly. 

Alex snorts, “No he’s not.”

That… isn’t the reaction John was expecting. “I’m sorry?”

“I know Senator Washington very well; you look nothing like him,” Alex explains primly.

“Ok ok,” John holds up his hands, “First of all, ew, I didn’t need to know you’re sleeping with my elected official. Second, my dad is the senator for South Carolina.”

There’s a pause, and then Alex bursts out laughing. “Oh, _no._ I’m not sleeping with him, I worked on his election campaign last year. I do have a life outside of sex, you know.”

“Oh, well, naturally.” John fumbles, flushing. “I, ah, heard it was a good campaign.” It’s a weak response and he knows it.

Alex throws him a bone. “So your dad is Henry Laurens?”

“You know the senator from South Carolina off the top of your head?”

“I do when he’s introducing discriminatory bills against queer and trans people,” Alex says. It’s fair. It’s not like John is particularly proud of his father’s political record.

“Well, exactly. I don’t want to come out and get disowned while he’s still paying tuition. Hey,” John says, because he doesn’t like the way his words made a frown appear between Alex’s brows. People as wonderful as Alex shouldn’t have to frown. He leans over, kissing him gently. “It sucks sometimes, but it led me to you.”

Alex sighs, “I know too many kids that got disowned and ended up on the street for who they choose to love, that’s all. Also, that sounds dangerously like relationship talk, Mr Bigshot,” Alex says, and there’s something there in his voice. Some kind of warning.

It hurts. “So?” John says valiantly. “Sex workers do that, don’t they? The _‘Boyfriend Experience’_.”

“Mmm,” Alex hums, “Some do. Sex with a side of cuddling and dinner.”

“Or cuddling and dinner with a side of sex,” John hedges, and Alex just hums in agreement. “It’s still paying for company. And paying for more, obviously, because it requires a lot more work and effort…”

“Why John?” Alex purrs, “Are you asking me to be your _Boyfriend Experience_?”

His heart is beating against his rib cage. Can Alex hear it? Surely he can. “I need discretion,” John says, “And you’re working. But I... like you a lot, Alex.”

Alex’s smile grew, building into a laugh. “Oh you _like me a lot_? Do I have to check a box if I like you too? Yes, no or maybe?”

“Shut up!” His face is burning. He’s going to die of embarrassment. “I think you’re hot. And smart.” _And real,_ his mind supplies. _Painfully honest and intense and alive._

Alex isn’t letting him off the hook that easy. “Oh, tell me more. I just _love it_ when men compliment me.” John swats him, which only makes him laugh harder. “Are my eyes like jewels? Am I the fairest maiden in the land? Would you fight dragons for me? Oh John!”

John tackles him. One hand rakes up Alex’s side, tickling him mercilessly, while he kisses every bit of Alex he can reach. “Your eyes are like onyx,” kiss, “Your hair,” kiss, “is like silk,” kiss, “Your body is like,” he stops as Alex’s head turns and slots their mouths together, tongue probing his own. It’s messy and silly, but as the kiss deepens it sends something scorchingly hot through John.

“What was that?” Alex asks when John pulls up for air. “My body is what?”

“Is,” John dives in again, kissing along his neck, “so damn sexy, Alex. God damn. I can’t handle it, please let me blow you, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Ok, Jesus, like you have to ask.” One of Alex’s hands fists the sheets and John pops the button on his absurdly tight pants. Stripping Alex out of them takes _far too long_ , in John’s opinion, but eventually they’re thrown to the floor with the rest of Alex’s clothes. John’s clothes follow soon after.

Sometimes, John thanks every god he’s ever heard of that he is gay. Because what could be better than this? Alex laying on the bed beneath him, bucking his hips up and making breathy little sounds as John licks and kisses every part of him he can reach before diving into a messy blowjob. Alex tastes _amazing_ , and cries out when John lets out a hum of appreciation. It takes only a few minutes of John’s unskilled but enthusiastic appreciation that Alex comes down his throat with a cry. 

They lay back, breathless and basking. Alex fits himself under John’s arm, head resting on his chest and hair tickling his skin.

There are words on the tip of John’s tongue, sappy words like _I think I’m falling for you_ and _stay with me forever, let’s throw everything away and have sex in a hotel room for the rest of our lives._ He says none of them.

After a minute to catch his breath, Alex smirks against John’s bare skin. “What about you, Mr. Bigshot? Can I return the favour?”

“Sure.” His own arousal is dampened by the sheer glow of happiness diffusing through his veins but, hey, John’s never going to say no to that.

Alex leans over and kisses him, evaluating. “I have an idea. How about a massage? I have oil, in my bag. Get you all loosened up.”

John’s mind immediately goes to other things they could be doing if he was _loosened up_. Things that would be a lot easier if he hadn’t just sucked Alex’s erection away. Oh well. Hopefully Alex has a quick refractory period. 

The thought makes him shiver and nod fervently. “Let’s do it.”

Alex reaches into his bag and pulls out a small pot of oil, making sure the bag stays closed. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and kisses John on the nose. “Just going to wash my hands.”

“Sure,” he responds. But it’s boring, waiting for Alex on the bed, and John’s got a nervous anticipation buzzing in his veins. He’ll just go bug Alex in the bathroom. Come up behind him, wrap his arms around Alex’s waist, kiss him on the neck…

The image is so clear that John’s not focusing on where his limbs are heading. As he rolls out of the bed, his foot hits Alex’s bag and turns it upside down. “Crap,” John grabs it, intending to shove everything back in quickly. Then he gets a look at what’s in the bag.

There’s a bottle of lube, a large variety of condoms, a twenty, and a metro card. And two thin needles, still in their protective packaging.

 _They’re clean_ , John’s mind reassures him quickly. Brand new. So Alex couldn’t have been doing drugs tonight before he met John. But…

His phone call. The agitation. And, frankly, the fact that someone as smart and articulate as Alex is having sex for money with people he picked up off the street. Is he on heroin? Opiates? Some other street drug?

When Alex steps out of the bathroom, John is still holding the needle. He looks up to see Alex flush. “Put that down,” Alex snaps. “It’s mine.”

“This isn’t the answer, Alex.” John feels like crying. “God, you don’t have to–you shouldn’t–it’s _dangerous_.”

“Which is why I keep those in my bag, isn’t it?” Alex walks over and plucks the package from John’s hands. “What? Going to lecture me for safety? You didn’t judge the condoms in that bag. Why is a needle any different?”

“A needle means _drugs_ , Alex. God. I can’t do this.” Unsteadily, John rises. “You’re on drugs. I can’t believe you’re on drugs.”

Alex runs a hand through his hair. The agitation’s back, this time with a streak of anger. “I’m not on drugs.”

John gestures to the needle. “That says otherwise, Alex. Who’s your caller? Not your pimp, your _dealer_.”

“Oh my god. Sit down. Just sit down.” Considering Alex is pacing John considers saying the same thing back to him. But he doesn’t. He sits.

Alex takes a deep breath. “I didn’t lie to you. The phone call, it might be a friend of mine. Charles. Good kid, got disowned for being gay and turned to shooting up to take away the pain. He gets paid today, and that’s when he usually buys. I made him agree to call me, so I can at least be with him. It lets him have someone he recognises when he wakes up. I’m carrying clean needles because I don’t want him to deal with HIV on top of that, ok? He’s, like, 20.”

“Oh,” is all John can say.

“‘Oh’ is right.” And Alex’s eyes flash up, burning dark fire. “You were going to kick me out for being on drugs. Not when I’m with you, mind you, just for the idea that I might do them in my spare time. And what? You think that would have helped? Made me clean myself right up?”

“No, I don’t–” But Alex is right, of course. It had been a snap judgement, a spurt of righteousness like they weren’t both breaking the law right now. And, if he admits it, a flash of anger at the idea that Alex had lied to him, that Alex was not who he’d said he was.

 _You’re being ridiculous_.

He goes for honestly, in the end. “You’re right. I was a dick.”

Alex folds his arms. “You were.”

“I’m sorry.”

A smile starts working its way down Alex’s mouth. “At least you can admit it.”

John grins, giving Alex his best wide eyed stare. “Forgive me?”

It earns him a kiss. “You’re too pretty to stay mad at. Do you still want a massage?”

“Please.” John rolls over onto his stomach and lets Alex settle onto his waist. Alex’s hands, slick with oil, start digging into the muscles of his back. As he starts massaging, Alex talks.

“I’ve never done drugs and I’ve never wanted to. Except coffee, I need that to live.” John lets out a laugh, one that turns into a groan and Alex’s strong fingers work out a knot. “I don’t have a pimp either, if that’s also on your mind. 100% independent.”

“Ok. I wasn’t going to ask.”

Alex kisses the base of his neck. “You’re sweet. Most people do.” The hands keep moving, kneading the muscles on his back and spine. 

“Alex? I have a question.”

Alex’s hands still. “I have an answer,” he says, but it’s wary.

“You’re not from here, are you.” It’s not a question, the way John says it. “You have an accent. It’s subtle, but–”

“Can never quite get rid of it.” Alex starts moving again, his thumb slipping over John’s spine. “My first language isn’t English.”

“It’s not?”

“West African Creole. And then English, French, and Spanish. In that order. And a little bit of Hebrew, but I’m not fluent.”

 _Wow._ John pauses to take stock of all that. Four and a half languages. “I speak French too. And a little Spanish, but I’m not–my dad didn’t want us speaking it. So I don’t know much. You’re not Jewish? Hebrew is unusual.”

“I’m not Jewish, no.” John can feel it against his skin when Alex laughs, even more so when he leans forward to press soft kisses against John’s back. “Schooling options were limited where I grew up.”

“Which was? I’m curious.”

“Nevis, a little island near Puerto Rico.”

“Cool.” John had only a vague idea of where that was, but it conjured up images of Alex running down beaches and frolicking in the ocean. “How’d you get here?”

“Got adopted, sort of. They took me to Puerto Rico, so there was my citizenship. Came here when I was sixteen and never left.”

“Wait,” John frowned. “How did you get ‘sort of’ adopted?”

“Next question.”

“But–”

The hands on his back digs in, hard enough to make John groan again. “Next question, John.”

The only thing that comes to mind is, “How long ago was this?”

“Ten years? No, nine. Nine since I arrived in New York.”

“And have you always been…” He tires to find a way to phrase it. “Working?”

“Have I always been whoring, you mean?” Alex’s tone is mild, unoffended. “No. I’ve done all kinds of things. Bussed tables, worked election campaigns, read books. But if you’re asking if I was hooking at sixteen, the answer’s yes. There’s not a lot you can do in New York when you’re underage and need to make rent.”

“Ah.” Thank god his face was pressed into a pillow - he didn’t quite know what to say to something like that. Especially considering how blasé Alex had spoken about it. _I’m sorry_ didn’t quite seem right. So instead he said nothing.

“You should be grateful,” Alex smirks against John’s hair. He’s mostly abandoned the actual massage in favour of rubbing soft circles into John’s shoulders and kissing his hair. Which is just as nice. “It takes years to be this good at what I do. And now you have me here, in lieu of a boyfriend, and also you have the _tiniest waist_ , Jesus Christ how is this even _legal_ ”

“It’s not legal,” John reminds him, because he may not be a law student but he’s very aware of New York’s laws surrounding sex work. 

“I mean your physique, you dork.”

“Oh, well. That’s legal. You’re welcome to take a closer look, if you want…” John wiggles his hips, almost dislodging Alex. Alex laughs but obliges, running his hands up and down John’s naked body.

Alex’s phone doesn’t ring. Neither boy is concerned, too busy exploring one another’s bodies.

Afterward, Alex fishes John’s phone from his pants pocket, adding in a number under “Alex <3”. When John protests the heart, he changes it to “Alexandria <3” with a grin.

“Just in case someone looks through your phone. If you want to call me Alexandria, it-”

“-costs extra,” John finishes. “I’m good with Alexander.” He changes it back to “Alex”, without the heart.

It’s dawn by the time John drops Alex off at his corner, breakfast sandwich in hand. He kisses Alex goodbye and watches him dodge around the other sex workers as he starts home.

 _He looks happy_ , John thinks, and it makes him smile.

“He overcharges you, you know.” John is startled out of his reverie by a voice. The voice belonged to the blond man who’d been with Alex before–Andre, that was his name. The one who’d tried to proposition John when Alex had hesitated.

“What?”

“He quoted you twice what he usually makes. He’s robbing you blind.”

John feels a surge of protective anger. _Don’t punch Alex’s friend. Don’t punch Alex’s friend._ “I believe you’re a little confused at what constitutes a robbery. Alex offers a service, and it’s one that I judge is worth the price. _Very_ worth the price,” he adds, in case Andre gets some bad idea about making him a better offer. This man is pretty, sure, but he only wants Alex. For better or worse, his heart is gone.

Andre blinks. “Well, that’s your prerogative. But you’re paying him even more than his girlfriend does, so I thought you’d like to know.”

John’s stomach drops. His blood runs cold. “Girlfriend?” Alex hasn’t said anything about a girlfriend.

_Why would he have to though? He’s a sex worker, you’re a client. Pretending to like you is his job, nothing more._

Andre’s still talking. “Yeah, it’s been… a year now? He’s got a whole collection of nice suits and things he keeps just to look good for her, like she doesn’t already know he’s a whore. That’s why he doesn’t see female clients.”

“Right.” John says numbly. He has to get out of here.

“Have a nice day!” Andre calls as John pulls away from the curb. He drives three blocks, pulls over again, and calls Laf.

“I need to get drunk tonight.”

_”Mon ami? Is something wrong?”_

“Yes. No. Look, I’ll tell you when I see you alright?”

_”Alright, John. See you in fifteen, I’ll bring the Patron.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUNNNNN
> 
> Historical Hamilton actually did speak that many languages - As the Dutch Creole spoken on Nevis has died out completely, I replaced it with the West African Creole now spoken there. And I swapped out Latin for Spanish. But Hamilton did speak English and French, and enough Hebrew to teach his children some basics decades later.
> 
> And, like AHam, I am also in aw of Anthony Ramos' teeny tiny waist. How dare you sir.
> 
> And today, in "Fanfiction is going to trip up some NSA watch list on me", we have google searches for "What is the age of consent in Puerto Rico" "Homosexuality criminalization on Nevis" and "What drugs are injected" (Which is... more than you'd think)
> 
> Tumblr is [here](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/), come feed my unhealthy obsession for Hamilton by sending me messages.


	4. Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Maria whistles. "Boy must be loaded."_
> 
> _"You're telling me." Every time John picks him up they go to a different hotel, each one with silky sheets and mints on the pillow. There’s room service or take out, and when John can’t drop Alex back on his corner, he always pays for a taxi._    
>  _It’s nice, but the luxury of it all makes Alex wary. He knows that getting used to good things only results in more pain when you lose them._
> 
> _"How's your girl going to take it?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, see that tag for "references to coercive sex"? That comes up in this chapter. It is discussed, and some rape-culture-y ideas are expressed by some characters. As stated before though, sexual assault will not be a part of the plotline in this story. 
> 
> As always, a shout out to [Chloe](http://unforgivingemotions.tumblr.com/) who betas this thing.

It's just past 7am, and Alex is sitting in a hedge. Well, not in a hedge. Behind a hedge. He’s watching the ramshackle house on the other side of the street, waiting for James Reynolds to head to work. 

He’s been sitting here for almost an hour already, resting back on his heels. If he waits any longer, Alex is pretty sure his butt is going to go numb.

Finally, _finally_ , he hears Reynolds’ car start up. The man drives off and Alex pushes himself to his feet to go ring the doorbell.

“Oh Alex,” is all Maria says when she sees him. “Again? Who was it this time?”

That’s a little harsh. It’s not like Alex gets roughed up every day. Or even every week. “Adams,” he bites out the name, a cop who’s the bane of both of their existences, “and I have a date tonight. Make me pretty?”

She sighs and lets him in, just like he knew she would. “Get in, you dog. Kitchen.”

He smiles, blows a kiss. “Thanks, darling.”

These days, a move like that doesn’t even make her blush. They’ve known each other too long. “Alright. Inventory?” She gives him a quick look up and down. “What hurts?”

“Knees and palms, from gravel. Then my lip.” Which is bleeding and bruised. Alex can take a hit, that’s for sure. 

She sighs again and gets out the hydrogen peroxide. "If you know you get picked up by the police at those corners, why don't you _stop working them_?"

"Hey now, give up my territory?" He gives her a roguish smile—at least he tries. With the split lip, he's not sure what effect he's having. Maria just makes a _tsking_ sound and starts dabbing at his wounds. It stings, but it doesn't hurt more than getting hit in the first place.

She's not done with him though. "Then what? Get roughed up? How many johns are you picking up with a busted lip?"

"Only the kinky ones." The smile fades. "None, but Adams can go suck a dick."

Her eyes flash. "You know Alex, that is exactly your problem. You can't _shut your damn mouth_ and suck the corrupt cop's dick so he doesn’t throw you in jail for the night. Or throw you on gravel, judging by the state of your palms.”

“It’s a exploitation of power!” Alex protests.

“Stop moving.” The peroxide-soaked cloth keeps slipping off his lip and down his chin. Which, in fairness, should probably also be sanitized after the night he had. “I don’t understand how it’s any different than what you usually do. You suck dicks for a living; what’s the problem with doing it to not get arrested?”

“It is different,” Alex insists. He doesn't want to think about Maria shutting her mouth and doing the things she needed to survive, no more than he liked the idea of any of them doing it. "I pulled him off Pierre,” he says finally, “That kid doesn't need Adams in his life."

“It’s no different for him either. You can’t keep shielding him, Alex, it’s just going to make it harder.”

"Alright, alright," he waves her concerns away. "Doesn't matter anyway."

"No, it doesn't.” She finishes dabbing at his lip and moves on to his palms, plucking out any gravel Alex missed with her nails. Her voice takes on a far more conversational tone. "Andre says you have a boyfriend now,” she says. “Paying far more than we both know that obnoxious mouth is worth."

He pouts. "Never heard you complain."

"Because I wasn't paying for it." She pauses to level him a look before returning to her task. "The boy? You going to stop seeing men now too?"

"He doesn't want exclusivity. Just some romance every once in awhile. Calls me up every two weeks or so." Well, that wasn’t strictly true. When Alex gave John his number, he was anticipating something similar to the arrangement he had with Angel: _Text me when you want to see me._

Instead, he now wakes up to texts like _How many students does it take to catch a bus? I don’t know, there’s twelve people at the stop and we’re STILL WAITING_. And, even stranger, he finds himself texting back. It’s all ridiculous stuff, jokes and updates about their days (Alex pointedly doesn’t mention his work, and John doesn’t ask). And then, occasionally, John will text _doing anything saturday night_ and would book him for the night. It’s unconventional, sure, but it works. It isn’t as if talking to John was a chore.

Maria whistles. "Boy must be loaded."

"You're telling me." Every time John picks him up they go to a different hotel, each one with silky sheets and mints on the pillow. There’s room service or take out, and when John can’t drop Alex back on his corner, he always pays for a taxi.

It’s nice, but the luxury of it all makes Alex wary. He knows that getting used to good things only results in more pain when you lose them.

"How's your girl going to take it?" Maria asks, leaving his palms and moving on to his cut up knees. Alex winces as she wipes a particularly deep cut with peroxide. 

"Angel doesn't care if I'm sleeping with men."

"Angel sure cares if you're sleeping with women. She's going to care if you're doing the boyfriend thing with someone else."

"It's not a 'boyfriend thing'," he shoots back, irritated for some reason. "It's still whoring, they just want cuddling and conversation beforehand. If it were dating, they wouldn't be paying me."

"Suit yourself." She finishes cleaning him up. "You want to sleep here? My husband doesn't come back until five."

"Yes please. I have to be out by three if I'm going all the way into New Jersey tonight."

"Alright. I'll wake you up at two then. You want me to make you pretty?"

"Definitely." He winks at her, then turns serious. "How are you Maria, really?"

"I'm okay." She flashes him a smile as she puts away the medical supplies. "I have a new job. Waiting tables downtown."

"That's good." It's always good when they find a more legitimate job, even if it never lasts. "You still working on the street?"

"Only a few more weeks I think. Pay off James' gambling debt. If I can hold this job for a while, we'll be ok."

"I'm happy for you, really." And he is. She doesn't deserve her awful husband. "And James?"

"He's drinking less. It's been better."

"Better?"

"He broke the TV last week. Just got angry and smashed it. I don't know—"

"Hey." He grabs her by the chin. "If he tries to do that to you, you can crash with me and Pierre. Any time. Just show up and the bed is yours." 

She nods, and he sees the gratitude there. And it’s misplaced, so misplaced, because the two of them owe each other so much that any calculation of it would be impossible. So Alex tilts her chin up and kisses her quickly. 

"Alex!" She swats him.

"Angel doesn't need to know!" He ducks under another swat. 

“My husband will know!” she calls after him, but she’s laughing too. Good.

“Your husband didn’t care when we were dating.” He sticks his tongue out at her. “Or when you’re working beside me to make rent.”

She waves him off. “Go to bed, you useless thing.”

He checks his phone before snuggling into the couch.

_From: John_  
_Ugh. I am having had the longest day and I do not want to go watch stupid french films tonight._

_From: Alex_  
_I thought you spoke french_

_From: John_  
_Me understanding the film does not make the film decent_

_From: John_  
_How about you?_

Alex hesitates. Then he types _I hate cops_ and presses ‘send’ before he can stop himself.

It only takes a second for the phone to vibrate in his hands.

_From: John_  
_Do you need help????_

Figures. His fingers fly over the keys before the boy can have a heart attack on his behalf.

_From: Alex_  
_Hold, Oh knight in shining armour. I’m fine. With a friend._

_From: Alex_  
_I just hate cops. There’s not one who isn’t corrupt as hell or bad enough to make you wish they were corrupt._

There’s no response to that. Possibly he’s gone to class, or has no idea what to say to Alex’s little outpouring of bitterness. Alex texts him quickly,

_From: Alex_  
_Let me know how the movies are though. It’s been ages since I’ve seen a film in anything other than English._

There’s a long pause. Just as Alex is starting to drift off, his phone buzzes again.

_From: John_  
_I will. You said you were with a friend… not your girlfriend?_

_From: Alex_  
_Don’t have one. Just clients right now._

_From: John_  
_Oh, ok. Doing anything on thurs?_

_From: Alex_  
_I am now_

_From: John_  
_:)_

_From: Alex_  
_;) ;) ;)_

With that much planned John stops texting him and Alex can finally go to sleep.

Maria wakes him up as promised, and he gets to sit on the toilet of her small bathroom while she uses makeup to touch up the bruise on his face. She’s far too good at it by now. As her fingers dance over his cheekbone, coating it with something called a ‘highlighter’, Alex resolves to press her on leaving James again. She has a job, and she can crash with him. She doesn’t need James.

“You want mascara?” Maria asks absently.

“Nah, she wouldn’t like it. Not that kind of girl.” 

She puts the tube down with a frown. “Pity, it’s a good look on you. Boring and masculine it is.”

Then he’s off, Maria calling, “Good luck, don’t get killed!” from the door. He blows a (mostly sarcastic) kiss behind him as he goes and looks back to see Maria flip him off. It makes him grin. The bus ride to where he meets Angel takes forever, but soon he’s stepping into their usual coffee shop.

There she is, sitting in the corner and typing on a laptop. She’s beautiful, Alex will give her that. All sharp angles— the cut of her cheekbones, the lines of her dress, the sharp spike of her wit. She is one of few people he won’t hesitate to admit is smarter than him. 

Angel Sky. He doesn't know her real name—they've been seeing each other for over a year, and she still won't tell him. She's exacting with privacy.

He gets a text the morning of, "Same time, same place." As soon as he confirms, six hundred dollars land in his bank account. (The bank account had been set up by her, and she's the only one who uses it. Alex prefers to use cash.) He dresses up and takes her to a restaurant way out in Jersey, too goddamn far away for anyone to recognize them. He asks her about her day, her friends, the books she's reading. And then she spends the night in a hotel room sitting on his face.

It's a ritual, by now. He's got it all down. And sometimes, he's a good enough actor to believe it. 

“Hey beautiful,” he says, sliding into the seat next to her. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

She jumps. Her eyes snap right to his face, then give him a once over. "You're late."

"Only by a few minutes." He gives her his best smile. "Let me make it up to you?"

"Mocha. Venti," Is all she says.

"Grande. We're going to dinner."

"Fine." And, finally, she smiles. "I have had the _worst_ day."

He leans over to give her a quick kiss. "Give me a minute and you can tell me all about it."

He grabs her coffee and a triple espresso for himself, dropping a dollar in the tip jar on his way. “So, your day? That prof again?”

“He is the most ridiculous, self involved, sexist piece of-”

As she's talking, his phone buzzes again.

_From: John_  
_20min into the movie… Save me_

He smirks, about to reply, only to realize Angel's no longer talking.

She staring at him, hurt written all over her face for a brief moment. Then, like a window shuttering, her expression is neutral again. “Someone important?” 

_I'm working now_ he texts John quickly, but he can't say that to Angel. She hates being reminded that this isn’t real. Instead, he shrugs and says, “Someone who didn't know I don't answer my phone when I'm with you. I set them straight.”

Overall, the boyfriend experience with Angel is far more complicated than it is with John. She won’t stand for anything that reminds her of the fact that they're only playing a game. So six hundred dollars is deposited into a bank account, not cash in his hand, with the assumption that he will be spending the first hundred of it on their date. He picks the restaurant, and he gets her whatever she wants. She even pays him extra—a full two hundred dollars a week—not to sleep with other women.

It's almost like dating. Almost. As much as she'd like to pretend otherwise, he can't ignore the fact that he's being paid to cater to this fantasy. He can't ignore the fact that she is so ashamed of it that she insists they meet in another state. 

He doesn't even know her real name. He asked, once. They'd been seeing each other for months, and it wasn't like he had anyone to tell. She had told him flatly that it was none of his business.

So, Angel it is. Angel, whom he'll call his girlfriend if it makes her happy. It's not like there's anyone else lining up for the privilege. And while this sort of arrangement is infinitely harder than a quick and dirty blowjob in the back of someone’s car, at least he’s attracted to her. At least he enjoys it. He kisses her on the street corner as they wait for a taxi, just as the rain starts to fall, and when she sighs into his mouth he thinks _I can see it. This could have been real, in another life_. 

He takes her to a new sushi restaurant, and they take turns trying each other's food and attempting to pronounce the dishes. Alex takes a large dollop of wasabi, despite her warnings, and she laughs as he gropes for the water glass. It's nice. Pleasant.

"—And I don't even know what I'm going to do about all these papers." She sighs. "Grad school is harder than I thought it would be."'

"I can only imagine." 

He’s twenty five now. Had he continued school, he’d have a masters right now. He could be working in a fancy political office, or maybe a law office, and they could be dating for real. The thought stings.

"And my father—" She stops suddenly, breaking off the sentence. "He's got a lot of work to do."

"He's in politics, right?" She's been vague about exactly how, but he knew her father did _something_ relating to politics.

"Yes." She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "There's a new bill up for vote, one on finance and speculation on Wall Street-"

He nods; he’s read through the case on several news sites. "H.R. 4173, I'm aware. It's a good step if it gets passed. Make insider trading less likely to screw over the market."

Angel glances around, then leans forward. "It's not going to pass."

Alex frowns. "What?" 

"The bill. It's getting killed by committee next week. They're bought off."

Well, _that's_ news. "Are you sure? Of all the—"

"I'm sure."

He's about to launch into a furious take down of corruption in politics when he remembers where he is. This is not the place. Instead he says, "What did you think of the last clause? It could open a loophole—"

It works. Her eyes brighten at the promise of debate. "I don't think so, not with subsection B..."

They talk about politics for a while, and when the meal is over, Alex takes her dancing. She dances like she's on _fire_ , grinding up against him, hands around his neck to claim possession. She wants the world to know that tonight, he belongs to her.

 _Could I love her?_ Alex wonders as they twist under the flashing fluorescents. Not in another life, but now? She's the smartest person he knows. She's stunningly beautiful. She's terrifyingly direct.

 _But she’s ashamed of you,_ a voice whispers in his head. _If she actually cared about you, she would be open about it. She wouldn’t put you through this farce of privacy so no one has to know she’s pretending to be in a relationship._ He’s being used, he has no illusions about that. 

As they dance, his mind drifts back to John. How different their relationship felt to the one he has with Angel. Less combative, less fairy tale romantic, but more real for both those things. Being with John doesn’t feel like work.

_Stupid. John's probably not his real name either. His kink is gentleness, that's all._

He leans closer to be heard over the music. "You want to get out of here?"

And his Angel smiles. "I thought you'd never ask."

(If he thinks about John while they're having sex, she doesn't have to know. She's happy, worn out and satisfied, when he leaves.)

It’s only natural for him to compare Angel to John, Alex figures as he starts the long trip home. They’re the only two clients he’s seeing regularly. Both wealthy; both lonely; both too ashamed of their desires to have a real boyfriend, so they’ve resorted to paying for his company. 

His phone buzzes again.

_From: John_  
_Alex…we’re on movie number 3...save me…_

And then, as Alex is about to reply,

_From: John_  
_wish you were here with me instead_

Alex doesn’t respond. He closes the app, then thinks better of it and pulls up Andre’s number.

_From: Alex_  
_Working tonight?_

_From: Andre_  
_Nah. In for the night_

_From: Alex_  
_If you want to change that, I have tequila_

_From: Andre_  
_...fine, but bring it over here. I’m not sleeping over at your place with your roommate rattling around in the kitchen_

There. Andre would get his mind off both of them. He swings by the liquor store on his way and picks up a bottle of tequila—a more expensive brand than he’d normally drink, but Andre is nothing if not pretentious.

He’s direct though, which is a plus. As soon as Alex is through the front door he finds himself pinned against the wall, one of Andre’s hands in his hair and the other massaging the front of his jeans.

It’s good, because Andre’s just as experienced at this as he is. And, as much as Alex hates to admit it, Andre is also absurdly attractive—all that soft blonde hair, the fine lines of his face and a pair of wicked blue eyes. Best of all, there is nothing about him that reminds Alex of either Angel _or_ John.

That’s what he needs right now. So when Andre pulls him in for a bruising kiss, the tequila forgotten, Alex lets him—lets himself be carried away to a world where things makes sense again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Alex. Bootycalling your rival is not the solution, no matter how hot he is.
> 
> Tumblr is [here](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/), come feed my unhealthy obsession for Hamilton by sending me messages. And, as always, comments and kudos are loved and help keep me writing. 
> 
> Next chapter is the big one. The one where things start to heat up, and the one where we finally get Alex's backstory. I will not spoil it but I will say it was adapted from a real story.


	5. Survivor Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Do you trust me?” Alex asks again._
> 
> _“Yes. Of course.” Always, his mind adds, but this is not the time._
> 
> _Alex leans over to kiss him, long and deep. “Close your eyes.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyy so thank you for your patience while I finished this monster chapter. And so many thank yous to [Chloe](http://unforgivingemotions.tumblr.com/), who betas this.
> 
> See those warnings in the tags? They're all in force. Discussions of underage sex and exploitative sex. It's very willing, but one person is below the legal age of consent. It is discussed only, and not graphically.
> 
> HISTORICAL FIGURES
> 
> Thomas Stevens - a wealthy man on St Criox who adopted a 14 year old Alexander Hamilton when he ran out of relatives to live with. In this fic he also owns Beekman and Cruger, the firm Alex worked for as a teenager. While there is some discussion of how well Alex was being treated in his home, he was probably not nearly as awful as he is in this fic. :)

“Mon ami,” Laf stares at John determinedly. “This is ridiculous. I tell you all about the people _I_ am dating. All of them.”

John drops his eyes. “Yeah, well, I could do with hearing a lot less about your little poly carousel.” They’re relaxing after class, drinking beers and watching terrible action movies. The movie’s almost over; if he can put off the worst of the questioning for a few minutes, he can distract his friend with some ridiculous art house film. Laf’s attention span isn’t that long– he’ll lose interest quickly.

Possibly. Probably. _Hopefully_ , because John’s not sure how many more lies he can come up with on the spot.

“So,” Lafayette says, “This Alexandria… where did you meet her?”

“Uh, in class.” _What class what class_ chants his mind. “Health and sexuality class. Just an elective, but uh. I met her and we hit it off.”

“Apparently! Tell me about her. I want to know everything about the woman who finally made John Laurens lose his heart. How many dates have I set you up on now? Eight? And never a second date.”

“She’s got, uh,” He fumbles for his words again. “Dark hair, chin length. Dark eyes.”

“Mexican?”

“From the Caribbean, but she looks like she’s Puerto Rican.”

“Does she have–” Laf makes a mildly obscene gesture in front of his chest and John nearly spits out his drink.

“Uh, yeah. Very–” He can’t bring himself to make the same gesture. 

Laf’s next sentence makes it worse. “When do I get to meet her?”

He can’t say _never_. He can’t say _Actually ‘she’ is a ‘he’, and he is a sex worker who doesn’t care about meeting my friends. I’m paying someone to pretend to love me, which may be the saddest thing I’ve done all week._

He opens his mouth intending to say _Well, we’re not that serious yet and I don’t want to freak her out, maybe in a few weeks._

That’s not what comes out. What comes out is, “I’m gay.”

Laf doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t react at all beyond saying calmly, “That might be news for Alexandria. Are you sure?”

“It’s Alexander.”

“Ah.” Laf nods once, and in that nod John sees acceptance. “Thank you for telling me.” And Laf, never one to be shy, pulls him into a hug. It’s such a relief, to finally tell _someone_ , but he can’t relax yet.

“You can’t tell anyone,” John insists. 

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“My father would disown me.”

“Your father is garbage.”

“Hey!” John pulled away. “He’s not. He’s _not_. He’s just… old. Conservative. Paranoid that any whiff of ‘the gay agenda’ will wreck his reelection.” And the thing was, when it came to conservative South Carolinian voters, he wasn’t exactly wrong.

“Yes yes. I won’t tell anyone. Does this ‘gay agenda’ include another movie?”

“Sure., but no art house films. We’re watching Fury Road.”

“Fine,” Laf sniffs. “But next time is my choice.”

They’ve barely settled into the movie when Laf sits up. “Wait,” He holds up a finger. “You were gay this whole time?”

Are they really going to discuss this again? “Yes?”

“And not attracted to women at all?”

“That is generally the definition, yes?”

“You let me set you up on _how many dates_ with my female friends?!” He looked, improbably, hurt. “I was going to set you up with my girlfriend!”

John makes a face. “I’m good.” Adrienne is lovely, if he’s being objective, but Adrienne is also terrifying. And John is in love with Alex.

“You watch how you talk about my girlfriend.” Laf shakes his head. “Alright. We can talk about this later. Can I meet your boyfriend?”

“Er- I don’t think I like this movie, do you want to put an art house film on after all?” He tries. Lafayette doesn’t move.

“Un moment. You’re not getting away till I find out what you’re hiding, mon ami.”

“You’re not going to like it.” He really, really isn’t. “Alex is a sex worker.”

“Un _putes_?”

“Un _prostitué_ ,” John corrects, stung. “Who doesn’t deserve you saying things like that about him.”

“Je suis désolé,” Laf shrugs. “But it is a matter of semantics, non?”

“It’s a matter of respect,” John hisses. 

“Yes yes,” Laf waves him off. “What on earth makes you think this is a good idea?”

“I know it’s not a good idea.” That knowledge just isn’t enough to stop him. “Alex is just doing a job. He’s probably gots a bunch of guys like me. And I can’t even tell people I’m gay, he can do better–”

“Mon dieu,” Laf just shakes his head. “You really do love him. Do I have to tell you that this is not going to end well?” 

“I know it’s not going to end well,” John spits out. He knows– he really, really does. There’s only one way this can end: heartbreak, when he finally faces the fact that Alex is not his boyfriend, only a man paid to play pretend. 

Some of that must show on his face because Laf relents with a sigh. “Mon ami and his foolish choices.” He tugs John back down onto the sofa. “Watch this ridiculous movie you put on and worry about your heart later.”

As the road battle with the flame-throwing guitar heats up on screen, John tries to do just that.

The movie’s good, thankfully, and he spends a few more happy hours snuggled on the couch with Laf. Every once in a while the thought crosses his mind– _Lafayette knows!_ –only to be replaced by the steady presence of his friend beside him. Laf doesn’t care. John has seen him date people of all genders, sometimes at the same time.

But he can’t stay there forever. After the movie, it’s a quick goodbye and a scramble for his things, unstudied textbooks going back in his bag. John is out the door and halfway back to his dorm when his phone starts buzzing. _Must have forgotten something at Laf’s_. Laf is the only one who calls him regularly.

He almost drops it when he sees the name flashing.

_Henry Laurens._

His immediate thought is that his dad must be psychic, or must have him bugged and somehow heard him utter the words _I’m gay_ aloud. Which… is ridiculous. John knows that.

He still doesn't want to answer the phone.

It buzzes again, even more insistent the second time. Whatever his dad has to say, it will be worse if John makes him wait. He swipes to answer the call. “This is John Laurens.”

“Son.”

“Sir.” John always addresses his father as ‘sir’. _Proper respect_ , his father called it. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you aware,” his father says slowly, “of what your cousin has been getting up to?”

“No sir,” John wracks his brain but comes up blank. “What has my cousin gotten up to?” _And which cousin?_ He has approximately twelve hundred cousins. 

“Your cousin Edgar took up with a DA’s son and ran away to a hippie commune.” The scorn in Henry Laurens’ voice was unmistakable. John froze. “Disgusting perversion. You are to say nothing about it, do you hear me? And have no further contact with him. If we can contain this, hopefully we can control the fallout.”

Edgar. John tries to remember, his mind calling up a vague memory of blonde hair and a sweet smile. A nice man, if John remembers correctly, one who doesn’t deserve to be cut off from his entire family for who he loves. _Disgusting. Perversion._

“Yes sir,” he says. He feels sick. 

_Just get out of this conversation as soon as you can._ He could go back to Laf’s, get drunk, and feel at least somewhat safer. He chokes out, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Watch your conduct,” John’s father says, completely unaware of how his words are affecting his eldest son. “We cannot afford any more scandals in this family.” John sinks slowly down the wall to the ground, sitting in the dirt and praying his dad will hang up soon so he can go get drunk with the one friend who knows he is gay. Well, Laf and Alex, the latter of whom _definitely_ knows he’s gay.

“Yes sir.”

“And your grades are satisfactory?”

“I will fax you my grades when they become available. For now I am on target.”

“Good. I am glad I don’t have to worry about you, John. I will speak to you later.”

“Yes sir.” John’s voice sounds small, even to his own ears. “Tell Jem and Hen I’ll call them on the weekend.”

“I will. Goodbye.”

John hangs up the phone with shaking hands. He pulls up the Messenger app, intending to text Laf, but his finger instead hovers over Alex’s name.

_To: Alex_  
_Are you free tonight_

The phone buzzes a less than a minute later.

_To: John_  
_Yeah. Usual?_

_To: Alex_  
_I need to not be thinking right now_

_To: Alex_  
_I just need things to go away_

_To: Alex_  
_I can’t_

Alex doesn’t care about his problems. Alex cares about listening to enough of his problems to get paid. Expecting anything more is unrealistic.

The idea is intolerable right now. He lifts to phone, intending to text Alex an apology, when he sees it’s ringing. “Hello?”

“Are you ok?” Alex’s voice is rough and insistent. It sounds like he just woke up.

“Yes,” John starts to pace. “No.”

“Where are you?”

“Near campus.” There’s a pause, and then his phone buzzes to indicate he’s got a text message. “That’s my address,” Alex says. “If you want, I can–whatever you want. Take your mind off things. Make sure you’re ok.”

It sounds better than what John was planning: getting drunk and going at his punching bag until his hands stopped shaking. “Got it. Be there in twenty”

He hails a taxi, hands the driver an extra twenty dollars, and makes it there in fifteen. The driver says nothing about the way he’s shaking in the backseat. 

Alex is waiting on the front step of a run-down apartment building. As soon as John steps out of the taxi, Alex envelops him in a hug. “There you go, you made it.” 

“He’s gonna know,” John can’t stop himself from saying it. “He’s gonna know.”

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” Alex helps him sit on the step, keeping his arms around him. “John, are you injured?”

“Not injured. Just–” _panicking_ , his mind supplies. Anxious and stressed out and hurting in a way that goes far beyond the physical.

“Overloaded?” Alex offers, and John nods. “Ok. We can stay here as long as we need.”

Only it doesn’t get any better. John sits like that, head between his knees, Alex rubbing small circles on his back. Yet the panic that threatened to overwhelm him is still there. 

If he can’t get rid of it, he’ll have to ignore it. John shoves all of the emotions down where they belong, locking them away. _Perversion_. “I’m good,” he says.

“You’re not.” Alex sounds almost affronted at the lie. “John, you spent twenty minutes fighting off a panic attack. And you’re not relaxed at all.” His fingers, rubbing steady patterns on John’s back, reach up to poke him in the shoulder. Alex is right–they might as well be granite. “You’re still freaking out, even if you’re not doing it visibly.”

“So?” Maybe he is, but there’s not a lot either of them can do about it, unless Alex has a magic cure-all for stress.

“I can help with that,” Alex says slowly.

The last thing he feels right now is sexy. “If you’re talking about sex–”

“No, I’m not.” Alex cuts him off. “But I can help you feel less overloaded. If you’re willing to trust me?”

He doesn’t have to hesitate for _that_. “I trust you.”

John doesn’t know what he’s expecting when Alex pulls him into the building and up to a little apartment on the fifth floor. Especially when Alex, instead of reaching for a key, merely slams his palm into the wood of the door. “Pierre!”

He was certainly not expecting a young man wearing oven mitts to open the door, giving him a once-over and a frown. “You said no incalls!”

“This is a friend, not an incall. Move.” Alex bumps the boy aside; and _boy_ is the right word, the kid certainly doesn’t look of age. He looks like a high schooler. John looks between them, trying discreetly to see if there’s any resemblance. There’s not. 

“John, Pierre. Pierre, John.” Alex waved between them carelessly, walking right past them and into a small kitchen–there’s only one room in the apartment, with two beds pushed up against the far wall and a living space in between. “I’m making tea.”

John’s nerves are just about frayed. His has no mind for pleasantries. Maybe that’s why the first thing he says to Pierre is “How old are you?”

Pierre just smirks, batting his eyelashes. “How old do you want me to be?”

“Legal,” is the first thing that comes to his mind. “I mean, over eighteen.”

“For you, babe, I’m twenty-one.”

“Pierre!” Alex calls over his shoulder. “Stop hitting on my friends.”

“Your friend loves me!” Pierre calls back. He turns back to John. “Don’t you? What’s your name, handsome?”

“Pierre!” Alex barks over John’s stuttering. “Drop the act. Can you go see your sugar daddy for the night? I need the room.”

“Fine.” Just like that, Pierre’s gone from minx to grudging teenager. “You never let me have any fun.” He pulls off the oven mitts with a huff. “Friedrich’s not my sugar daddy. And we said no incalls.”

“Not an incall if I just invite a friend over. If you can’t see him, can you go make rent or something? Just clear out for a bit.”

“Already have rent!” Pierre calls, but he starts putting on his shoes. “Friedrich paid it for me.”

Alex coughs. It sounds remarkably like the words ‘sugar daddy’. John tries not to smile, listening to Pierre grumble about ‘no incalls’ on his way out the door.

Alex hands John a mug of tea, leading him to sit on the bed. “Sorry. Pierre can be a little much sometimes. It’s a survival thing.”

“Please tell me he’s eighteen.” John blows on the mug of tea. The warm starts soaking into his hands, stopping the shaking.

“I could do that,” Alex says slowly. “If you wanted.”

John winces. “But you’d be lying?”

“But I’d be lying.”

“Jesus.”

Alex presses a kiss to the side of his head. “His family kicked him out when he came out. He’s been living with me for a few months now.”

“And you let him prostitute himself?” John couldn’t help asking. His nerves felt raw already, worn to pieces from the day. He lets Alex wrap careful arms around him once more.

“I do not, in fact, let him do anything. He’s his own person, and he was doing it before I met him. I gave him a place to stay, kept him away from anyone who might want to hurt him or exploit him, and introduced him to a sugar daddy.”

“That’s not right.”

“Maybe,” Alex says slowly. “But what other choice did he have? It’s not his fault he’s out of options.”

Encircled in Alex’s arms, John frowns. Somehow he gets the feeling that Alex isn’t just talking about Pierre. But he’s tired–tired and raw and hurting–so all he can think to say is, “No, it’s not his fault. But that doesn’t make it right.”

Alex kisses his temple again, this time softer. John takes it as a sign he’s said the right thing. “No it doesn’t. How are you feeling now?”

“Still awful.” _Heartache_ , that was the word that came to mind. A pain that went beyond the physical and into his mind. Pain that was somehow still shaped by his father’s words. _Disgrace. Perversion._

“Do you trust me?” Alex asks again.

“Yes. Of course.” _Always_ , his mind adds, but this is not the time. 

“Good. Strip out of everything but your boxers and lay down on the bed.” As John does, Alex walks over to to grab something out of a drawer, flipping the light switch on his way. Now the only light is the moon, shining in two small windows.

Alex leans over to kiss him, long and deep. “Close your eyes.” 

John does, and that’s when he feels the fabric slip over his eyes. “Alex?”

“Shhhh.” There is a comforting hand on his cheek. “If you need to stop, the word is ‘red’. Can you repeat that for me?”

“Red,” John parrots back uncertainly. He’s unsure–he doesn’t want Alex to strike him. But Alex doesn’t, just runs a hand over his shoulder until he stills.

“I’m going to tie your hands now. And then I’ll take away your stress. Just listen and feel.”

_Trust Alex_ , John thinks, and his left hand is secured to the headboard.

_Trust Alex_ , he repeats, as the right hand joins it. Alex is using some soft fabric, not handcuffs, and John is glad. They're soft against his wrists, even though they hold firm when he gives a little tug.

“Relax, baby,” Alex’s voice sounds like it could be coming from anywhere. Maybe it is. “Just let me lead you.”

He gets a kiss, than another. The blindfold makes all the sensations new, as he’s utterly unable to determine what’s coming next. Alex kisses him for a long moment then starts running a hand up and down his side. It feels strange, the touch electric in the darkness. 

There’s a brief scrape of blunt nails against his skin. “Easy,” Alex cautions. The hands on his body don’t stop, keep running a counterpoint to the soft presses of lips. John can’t anticipate, he can’t act, just receive what he’s given. He lets go entirely. 

Does he even exist? John drifts, relishing the sensations that Alex administers to his willing body. There’s no pain. Just sensation. The brush of fingertips, the press of soft lips. The feeling of Alex’s nails tracing down his arms. The touch leaves him gasping, breathless. There’s nothing beyond the moment in which he exists.

It’s peaceful, here in the dark. He doesn’t have to worry; he doesn’t have to know the answers. And he’s not alone. Alex is here with him, and Alex will take care of him.

Slowly, the touch solidifies into a pattern. Alex tracing his nails up and down John’s left arm, reluctantly grounding him. After he’s done that for a few minutes ( _Is it a few minutes? Or seconds? Or another hour?_ ), Alex speaks. 

“John? How does that feel?”

He doesn’t want to answer. He wants to stay in the darkness forever, floating on air with Alex by his side.

“John?”

He whines. It’s a thoroughly undignified sound, but he doesn’t care.

“I’m going to untie your wrists now. I want you to lower your arms, and then we’ll take off the blindfold.” He does as he says, and John pulls his arms down. There’s only a slight ache, from where he pulled instinctively against the restraints. 

“Okay. Now, keep your eyes closed…” Alex instructs, and John feels the blindfold slip off his face. “Open them slowly. It’s not very bright in here, but still.”

“Okay,” John says. His voice is a rasp–for the first time he wonders just how long they had been like that. “How– how long–”

“Almost an hour.” Alex brushes a piece of hair back from his face. “You did really well.”

“Alex,” John forces the word out, so the man has to look at him. “ _Thank you._ ”

“Go to sleep,” Alex says. “You can stay here for the night. You don’t have class tomorrow?”

“No class,” John says. “Sleep.” Sleep sounds delightful. Sleep is really the best option, especially if Alex is still here. “Stay,” he says, and Alex climbs into the bed with him.

He sleeps deeply for a while, Alex’s hand tangled in his hair. He seems to remember waking up during the night, seeing Alex standing beside the window and looking at the moon with the most heartbreaking expression John has ever seen on his face. But exhaustion calls him back to slumber. 

He’s a little more sure the second time, of waking up to Alex’s muted phone conversation. That at least seems logical, even if the conversation doesn’t.

“I know what it means, Maria,” Alex whispers into the phone. And then, “I know it was stupid. But he needed me. He gets sleepy after, I don’t think it ever crossed his mind-–”John drifts off again before he can hear a reply or wonder to whom Alex is talking.

When John truly wakes, he's alone in the bed. He panics for a second, until he hears the sounds of Alex rattling around in the kitchen. "Alex?" 

"Shhh, I'm making eggs. It's not room service, but it'll have to do." Alex wanders over, a pan in one hand, wearing nothing but a faded pair of pajama pants. "Just sit tight; they'll be done in a minute."

"Alright," John yawns. He's tempted to snuggle back into the coarse sheets, the ones that still smell overwhelmingly like Alex, but the opportunity to scope out Alex's apartment is irresistible. 

It's as small as it looked last night, one room with a bed in each of two corners and a kitchen along the far wall. Alex has a double bed, Pierre a single. Everything has a vaguely rustic look–none of the drapes match, nor do the linens. There's a TV sitting on the box it came in, beside a large collection of DVDs. And books, everywhere books. They overfill a bookshelf, spill off the tables to scatter on the floor, and are stacked a foot high on Alex's bedside table.

John grabs the top book off the pile. He's expecting Harry Potter or possibly a Dan Brown mystery–the kind of thing that's on his bookshelf back home. He's not expecting _Theories of Law and Practice, 4th Edition._

It's a textbook. A university law textbook, and from the look of things it's not pre-law. John opens it up; the publication date for this edition is less than two years ago. It's recent. He traces over the book with his thumb, looking over the messy notes scrawled in the margins. Alex wrote in this book, recording his thoughts on the passages.

Above one paragraph on immigration law he's written _As if! respond Pendleton 2010_ , and above another is _Can be used re refugees from natural disasters?_

There's a cough behind him. John slams the book shut and whips around. Alex is watching him with an inscrutable expression on his face, holding the plate of eggs. 

"A third date question," John says softly. It's not a question, but a request– _trust me like I trusted you._

"Preferably not a question at all," Alex answers. He hands John the eggs and a fork, taking the book from him in return. When he glances over the title, John can see hunger on his face for just an instant. Then he looks up. "It's not a happy story."

"It doesn't matter." That, John knows. "It's your story. Were you a law student?"

"They're not mine. This guy took me back to his place, and he was getting rid of them... he'd moved on to his masters and didn't care one way or another. So he let me take them." Alex smiles, but it’s soft and sad. "The whole 'I'm a college kid turning tricks to make extra money' shtick is mostly a lie so they don't have to feel guilty about exploiting you. Unless you're Andre, he _is_ a walking stereotype."

"Right." John nods. Not a law student then, just ferociously smart. He doesn’t know how to proceed, beyond starting with what he knows. "You said you came from the Caribbean?" he asks.

"Nevis," Alex agrees as John takes a bite of eggs. They aren’t bad, all things considered. "I told you my mom died. My dad screwed off years ago, so my brother and I were bouncing around with whichever relatives would take us. I was staying with a cousin.”

John opens his mouth to say _I’m sorry_ , but Alex cuts him off. He’s talking fast now, very fast.

“Friend of mine, Ned, his dad had a big export company. Hired me to work there after school, doing paperwork and then taking notes for him. His name was Thom. Thom Stevens. He always asked to stay late, work overtime, always said I made him proud, and I was the only one who could do things right around there.”

Alex breaks off, hesitates, looking at John with an unspoken question. _Are you sure?_

John's not sure, actually, but he knows Alex probably needs this. Needs to tell his story to _someone_ who'll listen. "And then?"

Alex's chin juts up, pride carrying him through the hurt. "We had an affair, of course. Why else do you hire a kid to work for your business?"

The only thing John can think to ask is, "How old were you?"

"Fourteen." 

"Jesus." 

"Yeah," Alex shrugs, still looking agitated. "I was young. But it wasn’t _bad_ , you know? He wasn’t violent or abusive. I thought we were in love. When my cousin killed himself, the Stevens took me in. And I know there were ulterior motives involved, but it wasn't like I had any other place to go, you know? We were out of options. I'd be on the street. Or dead."

"That doesn't make it a good thing," John says. “A lack of choices didn't mean the choice you had to make was a good one.”

"I know," Alex isn’t looking at him, "and I know how it sounds. But they kept me in school, put a roof over my head. Even got my citizenship.”

“How did that work?” John almost doesn’t want to ask. Even more so when he sees Alex shift uncomfortably on the bed. “Alex?”

“It’s messed up.”

“I kinda figured.” 

“They adopted me,” Alex says in a rush, “and moved back to Puerto Rico. Which,” he laughs, high and bitter, “the age of consent is only fourteen there, did you know? And there’s no laws criminalizing sodomy, unlike Nevis. I don’t know how they feel about men who sleep with their adopted kids, but it wasn’t like he was going to tell anyone. His wife didn’t know. Ned didn’t know.

“Ned–” Alex closes his eyes, briefly, running a hand through his hair. “I hated lying to him. He found the condoms in my room, I had to make up stories…”

“Jesus,” John says again, with feeling. “How did you end up here?”

“Thom sent me.” Alex looks past John, out the small window. “He said we were going to run away together, that he was leaving his wife. I just had to leave first, so I wouldn’t be around during the divorce to screw things up. He put me on a plane to New York and said he’d be there in a few weeks. 

“I told you it just sort of happened. I didn’t start out hooking. But the money he sent with me ran out, and I kept waiting and waiting… I couldn’t afford the hotel anymore. And then it was winter, and I was _so cold_. I’d never seen snow before. So I went home with people just to have somewhere to stay, and then I fell into doing it for money too.”

_Sixteen_ , John’s brain reminds him. Alex had been _sixteen_ when he’d been abandoned on the streets of a strange city to fend for himself.

Some of that horror must show on his face because Alex suddenly looks anxious. He smooths a hand over John’s frown, another brushing through his hair. John takes advantage of the close proximity to lean in for a kiss.

They stay there for a moment, lips pressed together gently, until Alex pulls away and drops his eyes. “That’s the story,” he says, voice level. 

John looks him in the eye. “You know it doesn’t change anything, right?” He wants to make very sure, because Alex is still trying to avoid his gaze. “I–” He stops, about to say _I love you no matter what_ , which would not be reassuring in this context. “I care about you, and I want to know you’re ok, and I’m... still attracted to you.” Yes, that was safer. Much safer.

“You’re sweet.” Alex gives him another kiss, quicker this time. “Though I think I’d have to kick you out if you said it did change things. What a douche move.” It’s an attempt a levity–a poor one, but one John lets it slide. He just hugs Alex again, harder, because he understands the fear of words you can never take back.

Buried against John’s hair Alex lets out one deep, shuddering breath. “You know,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even, “that I wouldn’t do long term arrangements for the longest time? It felt too much like cheating on Thom. And I’d go back to that hotel every weekend to sit and the bar and wait. Just in case. It took years to accept that he wasn’t coming… that he was never going to come.”

John has nothing to say to that. He just holds Alex tighter, trying to push away the unimaginable. They stay like that, holding one another, until Alex shifts and pulls away.

“I’m going to get more tea.”

“Ok.” John watches him from the bed. “Do you have plans today? Do you want to swing by the bank? I’m sorry I didn’t have it last night; I wasn’t really up to running errands on the way over.” 

“John,” Alex says patiently, putting two mugs of water in the microwave, “what on earth are you talking about?”

“The money,” John says. Alex had told him plainly, _don’t forget to pay me_. “For the night. A thousand dollars.”

Alex freezes. Is he happy John remembered? Relieved that he doesn’t have to bring it up? But when he turns around John sees anger on his face. “No sex, no money,” Alex says.

“That’s not fair,” John objects. “I was here all night. You gave me…” Not sex, but a gift nonetheless. The least he could do was give Alex something in return, even if it was something as small and impersonal as money.

“No sex, no money.” Alex wraps his arms around his middle, walking back to the window. Suddenly John remembers waking up in the night, seeing Alex standing there like a sentinel in the moonlight.

“Alex…” He reaches out, hesitant. “You know it’s not just about sex, right? I like being with you.”

“I know,” Alex says shortly. “The boyfriend experience. The pretending is part of it. But I offered last night, you didn’t ask, so you don’t owe me anything.”

“Okay.” _The pretending is part of it._ Well, at least Alex was being honest. Probably better to have a reminder that Alex is a professional. “I’ll see you around?” he asks, because he’s nothing if not hopeful.

“Sure.” Alex turns, smiles at him. “Don’t leave me without a kiss.”

Can he ever refuse Alex anything? He leans in for a kiss, to try and recapture the sweetness they shared in the darkness. “Thank you for last night. That was… remarkable.”

“Kink can be fun sometimes.” Alex leans in to kiss him a second time, and this time bites John on the lip.

“Hey!”

Alex blinks innocently as him. “See, isn’t that fun?”

“No thank you to biting.” John tries to glare. He really does. It’s impossible: Alex is far too distracting. He hasn’t even put a _shirt on_ , and John’s eyes keep sliding off his face to roam over his chest.

So shoot him. It’s a nice view.

“Alright, no biting. I will see you soon?” Alex asks.

“Definitely. Next weekend?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the monster chapter! Alex's backstory is adapted from a real story of an underage sex worker. I wish I was able to source it for you, but it was a source from an ARC of a book about youth homelessness. I just adapted it to his situation (Being orphaned and taken in by the Stevens)
> 
> I would also like to note that the age of consent in Puerto Rico was raised to 16 (...Thank god)
> 
> Tumblr is [here](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/), and with the backstory out of the way I will open up this verse to prompts! I'll write you a few hundred words of anything in this verse, up to present day (So, no spoilers), with any characters we've seen so far. So come send me a prompt, or chat me up. You can also comment/kudo to feed my hunger for external validation as I write more. :D
> 
> Next chapter: Everything goes to hell


	6. Whore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He knew that John was rich; anyone who can drop $1000 on a hooker on a whim has to be. But looking around at the obvious wealth displayed, clean and white and matching, Alex has to accept the truth._
> 
>  
> 
> _John’s too good for him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter was delayed because of a very sick cat. I am here though, and with nano should be getting more chapters out - finishing this and FTW is my goal.
> 
> Thanks to [Chloe](http://unforgivingemotions.tumblr.com/), who betas this.
> 
> We also now have [one shots for this 'verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/565606)! The two that have been prompted are both Pierre-centric, but I'm going to be adding to it whenever I have time. Some young Alex, how he met Maria, ect.

It’s two am. Alex is kneeling in a motel room on the East Side and wiping come off his face, which makes it pretty close to what he’d call a regular Saturday night.

The man he just blew sucks in a shuddering breath, then lets it out all at once. “God, you’re good at that.”

“I know.” Alex tries not to smirk. At least he’s got that much going for him. He runs a hand up the man’s sturdy thighs, half as a gesture of affection and half to leverage himself up. 

The man looks like he’s trying to think of what to say, but all that comes out is another, “God.”

Alex screws up his face and adopts an accent. “Sorry love, we don’t deal with God here. Too much sin.” It’s enough of a cover for the fact that he cannot remember what this one’s name is. Henri? Hero? Hermes? Something like that. The man laughs though, low and genuine, and that’s a point in his favour. He also leans forward to press a kiss on Alex’s open mouth. Another point - a lot of guys don’t like kissing after oral, even if Alex doesn’t let them come in his mouth.

It’s a good kiss. The kind Alex likes, with soft lips and just a hint of tongue. So why not continue it? He’s gotten paid and blown the guy; technically he should just leave, but he sees nothing wrong with a little kissing. So he climbs into the man’s lap to make out properly. 

They go at it for a few minutes until the guy shifts and pulls away. “If you keep doing that,” he says, low and raspy, “I’m going to have to pay you again.” It’s the same voice he used when he picked Alex up, when he introduced himself as-

“Hercules,” Alex says. That was it. Hercules looks at him questioningly. “I’m not opposed to that,” he says instead, as flirty as he can manage considering he’s already sitting in the man’s lap.

“Not so soon,” Hercules shakes his head sadly. “It was good though. You take tips?”

Normally he does. But tonight Alex just shrugs. “I take kisses.” He gets one more, quick and dry, before Hercules shifts him to his feet and goes to look for pants.

Alex leaves the motel with a spring in his step and $50 in his pocket. It's not too far from his usual haunts, so he opts to walk back rather than take the bus. Besides, there's enough play on these streets that he might grab another customer or two.

One blue Mercedes and blowjob in the backseat nets him another $30, and a black Toyota takes him back to the same motel where he left Herc. (That one was $50, he charges more if they take him anywhere). By the time he finishes with the second one, it's dawn. Alex checks his watch: seven am on the dot. Too early to text John, unfortunately, though he checks his phone just in case.

Well, there's one more thing he has to do today, and he might as well do it now. Alex takes the subway down to Union Square, to an office building he knows well from his work on the Washington campaign last summer. Getting through the door takes only a bit of flirtation with the girl behind the desk, then it's up the elevator to Washington's office. He steps inside like he belongs there, then plants himself in the waiting room.

People come and go past him, most bustling and looking important. Some of them he recognizes, but not all. A senator has to hire more people, he supposes.

Working on the campaign last summer had been great. He always has energy in the summer, and what better way to burn it off than campaigning for justice by day and offering blowjob specials in seedy clubs by night? He'd been on _fire_ all the time, riding on a high of new friends and new possibilities. Then the campaign was over, all the volunteers let go with a thank you and a pizza party, and Alex found himself back where he started.

"Alex?" A head pokes out of the cubicle.

"Knox! I didn't know you got hired."

"Just recently," Henry Knox grins. "There was some big scandal with the staff he hired after he got in, some of them were trading information? Anyway, he fired them all last month and we've slowly been hiring a new staff. It's a madhouse here."

Alex gets right to the point. "I need to see Washington. I know it's not procedure, but I have information I _know_ he'll want to have."

"Sure, Ham, Wash trusts you. Go right in."

And just like that he's ushered into Washington's office. It hasn’t changed much. Same wood paneling, same impressive desk. Washington’s face breaks into the same wide smile he always seems to reserve for Alex.

"Alex my boy! How has life been treating you?" he asks.

"Fine." He never figured out if Washington knew what he did for a living or not. Either way, Alex isn’t about to enlighten him.

"Still speechwriting? You taking over when Jay got sick was a really godsend, I've never seen anything like it."

"Writing here and there. Mostly on the internet. Freelance writing gigs are hard to come by." Much harder than freelance dick-sucking gigs. "I have information for you." He laid out everything he'd learned from Angel.

"So they're going to kill it in the committee and rake in the profits,” he finishes. “I checked a few legislatures; I can't find a way to stop it-"

"If the committee changes, they won't be able to kill it. They can't buy off everyone. Do you trust where you got this information?"

He's not ready to rat out Angel. "Yes. I'd rather not share it, but yes."

"Thank you, Alexander. Once again you've proven yourself invaluable to me." Washington regarded him with thoughtful eyes. "How is freelance suiting you?

Alex pulls a face.

"That bad, hm? Have you considered going into political writing full time? Your writing skills are very good, and your insight is truly remarkable. If a little long winded."

Alex flushes. He hates this part of a conversation. "Don't have the degree for it. I didn't go to university."

"Bright man like you?"

 _I dropped out of high school to become a prostitute._ Alex just shrugs. "Didn't happen."

"Well. We still have your number on file, do we not?”

“Probably. Or Knox’ll have it. You need some freelancing?” He’d love to do that. Work with Washington’s team again, build his resume.

"Something like that. Either way, thank you for the information."

"I just don't want to see that damn bill killed," Alex mutters. He shakes Washington's hand, ignoring the phone buzzing in his pocket, and leaves.

He checks his phone on the subway home.

_Angel:  
Same time, same place_

Alex groans. Wonders, for the first time, what would happen if he texts her back, _Sorry, I'm exhausted, how about tomorrow?_ He's been up all night, and he hasn't been sleeping so well lately. He wants to fall face first into his bed, not spend all evening entertaining Angel.

But that's not how their relationship works. He sighs, loudly, and texts back _Same price_. 

It's ok. He can do this. He sets his alarm for two pm, which will give him six hours. Or would, if he didn't spend half of it tossing and turning.

He gets up at two, takes one look at his sleepy reflection in the mirror and decides more drastic measures are needed. There’s a can of Monster he keeps under the sink for just such an occasion. He texts John while he pops the can ( _Have you ever been so tired your whole brain feels like it’s screaming?_ ), and starts drinking it as he does his hair. Pierre has caffeine pills, which are cleaner and easier, but that cleaves a little too close to drugs for Alex's comfort. Yeah, they're the same thing, but something about taking a pill versus an energy drink feels different. Besides, he told John he doesn't do drugs.

He gets a text back as he’s rolling lint off his nice dress pants.

_From: John  
Go to bed Alex_

_From: Alex  
Can’t._

_From: John  
Need me to come over and tuck you in?_

It makes him flush, incredibly. A flirty text from a boy he’s been sleeping with for months makes his skin get hot and his cheeks turn red. His lips curve into a smile as he texts back.

_From: Alex  
I would take you up on that if I didn’t know you’d fall asleep first_

_From: John  
That’s not true! I would never! ...you love me anyway, right?_

_From: Alex  
Of course_

He goes to add a heart, then stops as he realises what he’s doing. God, when did he get so _stupid_? He erases the last message, and replaces it with something far less sappy.

_From: Alex  
Can’t anyway. Working tonight_

There, that’ll do it. He turns his phone off for good measure. He’s got to get out the door anyway, he doesn’t have time to be mucking about with John. He packs his bag: condoms, lube, another can of Monster, his metro card, $40 in cash for emergencies, and a short knife. Hair done, dressed in a well cut green suit, he gives himself a last once-over in the mirror before leaving at precisely 3:15. Then it's a long journey into New Jersey to meet Angel for five pm.

The bus ride is garbage. He avoids texting John.

With Angel, at least, he knows where he stands. Paid companionship. He's a professional, and that's what he does. He gives her a soft kiss on the cheek when she arrives at the coffee shop, and whisks her away to the new Indian place he googled. They get seated, Angelica telling some lively story about one of her sisters.

And then, like a trainwreck, it happens.

"Angelica Schuyler!" A voice booms from over Alex's shoulder. "What are you doing in this part of town?"

Angel freezes, caught. Alex sees her mouth open in a wordless curse. The damage is done; there's no getting out of this now. There is no way for him to unknow her name.

Alex turns, pasting a bland smile on his face. He's slept with enough pompous blowhards; he knows how they talk. "She's helping with with a proposal for a nonprofit initiative. I've been keeping her away from her schoolwork, it's true. Angelica–" She curses again, silently, as he uses her real name, "–is just far too good at what she does."

"With the connections to boot!" the man agrees. "How is Philip?"

Philip. Philip _Schuyler_? The mayor of New York? Connections indeed. Alex swallows, jumps right back into the game. "I'm afraid we've taken up too much time already. Miss Schuyler, may I escort you home?"

"Of course," she said, lips pressed so tight the words can barely escape. "It was wonderful to see you again, Robert."

"The pleasure is all mine. Give your father my best." He tips his hat and departs. Even so, Alex can tell their date is ruined. He calls for the check, pays quickly, and offers her his arm. She takes it, lets him lead her out.

As soon as they're outside she shoves him away. "Don't touch me."

"Angel?" he tries first, hoping it will placate her. She won't look at him. "Angelica?"

"Don't call me that. Don't contact me again; this is over," she says with ringing finality.

All because one guy knew her name? "But..." he tries. "He doesn't know. He doesn't suspect."

"It doesn't matter. Someone will. I was a fool." She turns away, arms folded tight against her body.

"But it was _fine_." He doesn't understand. He handled himself well. If anything, she should be thanking him. "Just tell them I'm your classmate, your business partner, whatever. They'll believe it."

"No, they won't. You're not my classmate, Alex, and they'll figure it out. These things can be checked!"

"Who's gonna check?" He reaches out to her like he would a started animal. She slaps his hand away.

"I said don't _touch_ me! God, just go. Just go. I was an idiot to ever think..."

 _To think what?_ he wants to ask her. _That we could ever been something? That I could ever be good enough for you?_

The shame of her rejection makes his eyes start smarting. Alex turns away; he doesn't want to let her seem him cry. "Sure. Have a good life, _Angelica_." It's one last barb, a last ditch attempt to save what's left of his pride. She shudders, but doesn't look at him.

Alex thinks she might be crying too.

“You need to go,” she says finally. “Keep the money for tonight, just don’t… don’t contact me again.”

There’s nothing more he can say to that, so he goes, gives her what she wants and walks out of her life.Angelica Schuyler. God, maybe he was a fool too. . He deletes her phone number along the way. 

As Alex does, he sees he received another text from John. The smart thing to do would be to delete that number too, to cut all his ties and go back to anonymous blowjobs on the street. Instead he must be some kind of masochist, because he opens the message instead.

_From: John  
Night classes are the worst. Almost done though._

And Alex does something he’s never done before.

_From: Alex  
Are you free after?_

He doesn’t even have time to second guess himself– _don’t socialize with clients, don’t text clients first, oh my god what are you doing_ –because his phone is buzzing with a reply.

_From: John  
Yeah. Do you want to meet me somewhere?_

_From: Alex  
I know where your campus is. What building?_

_From: John  
Jerome Greene Hall. Class ending in 20_

Alex doesn't even think about hopping into a taxi to Columbia. He’s still got the money from Angel–from _Angelica_ –and he’ll worry about it later. Right now, he needs to be with John.

He gets to Jerome Greene just as the class is ending and leans against a wall to watch the students stream out. It sends a spike of hot jealousy through him–in any just world, he would be there with them. He’d be walking out of class, no worries beyond his next paper, and Angel would be happy to show him off as her boyfriend.

“Alex!” He turns, just in time to see John pull him in for a hug. “Did I keep you waiting? You found the building okay?”

“Only for a minute. And I’ve been around here plenty, lots of good bars.” His bread and butter was closeted and bi-curious college students, Alex knew his way around all of the universities by now.

“Are you okay?” John asks. 

“Yeah.” And he is, he is okay. He will be okay. The sting and shame of rejection will fade, and he’ll be back where he usually is (only significantly poorer, without Angel’s money). His eyes focus over John’s shoulder. “Hey. I know that guy.”

“What guy?” John turns, taking in the elegant gentleman in deep conversation with an older woman. “Burr?”

“Aaron, he told me to call him,” Alex hums. “Pretty sure it was his real name, too.”

“Wait,” John whips back to face him. “Did you… with _Burr_?” He looks shocked. Confused. It’s so adorable Alex has to laugh.

John shoves him. “I didn’t even know Burr was gay.”

Alex pulls a face. “He’s not. Just wanted to be sure. I think he felt bad, gave me his law textbooks in lieu of tip.” John’s still looking at him like he grew a second head. Was it jealousy then? John didn’t strike him as the type to pretend he was the only person Alex was sleeping with, but you never know. “He wasn’t a very good lay anyway. Pulled my hair and called me _Theodosia_ , of all things.”

John winces.

“What?” Alex asks.

“...that’s our prof’s name.”

Alex laughs, looking back at Aaron and the woman talking. Theodosia, he’ll bet. “Well, that’s certainly something.” He’s grinning. “Tenner says they run off together.”

“Alex! She’s married.”

He looks back at the pair, how close they’re standing. “So take my bet then.”

“I’m not betting on my prof’s sex life!” He looks so uncomfortable, Alex has to laugh. Sweet John.

John just shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous. Want to walk back to my place?” He says it like it’s nothing, and Alex shocks himself by agreeing.

John’s apartment is _huge_. A one bedroom, maybe, but a one bedroom that has a den, a sunken living room, and a balcony that looks over the river. Alex takes it in with wide eyes and just a bit of an embarrassed flush.

He knew that John was rich; anyone who can drop $1000 on a hooker on a whim has to be. But looking around at the obvious wealth displayed, clean and white and matching, Alex has to accept the truth.

John’s too good for him.

He’s outclassed. Just like Angelica, who’ll play at being his girlfriend but scorn the very idea of people knowing they’re together.

“Are you ok?” John’s hands land on his shoulders. “You look tense.”

“Fine,” he bites out.

“Are you sure?” But the hands leave his shoulders as John wanders into the open-concept kitchen. “You want a beer?”

“God, yes.” John hands him a Sam Adams and he downs half of it in one go. When he emerges, John is looking at him with steady eyes.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

No. No, Alex does not. If he tells John all the reasons Angelica decided he wasn’t good enough for her, John might decide the same thing. And Alex can’t lose him.

For the money, of course. If he’s lost Angel he doesn’t want to lose John’s money too. It pretty much pays his rent every month, after all.

He’s definitely not stupid enough to develop _feelings_ for a client. Especially after Angel. He’s a professional, he’s taken more dicks in more ways than John can even _imagine_. He’s not going to fall in love with this one just because it’s attached to a nice body and a kind smile that happens to give him money.

John’s still waiting for an answer. Well, the best defense is a good offense. Alex narrows his eyes. “Do you want to tell me what went on that night you came to mine?” Bad idea, reminding John about the terrible state of Alex’s apartment. “‘He’s gonna know’, what’s that supposed to mean?”

John jerks his head back in surprise. “You heard that?”

“You said it enough while you were panicking.” _Are you ashamed of me?_ he wants to ask, but he doesn’t.

John runs a hand through his hair. “You already know about my dad, ok? If he finds out I’m gay, he’ll cut me off, and I’ll lose everything. I wouldn’t have my school, this apartment, you…”

It’s like a slap to the face. To be grouped in with John’s apartment, just another _thing_ he’s bought with his father’s money. “Yeah, well,” Alex grumbles. “Join the club, alright?” It’s hard to come back after a hit like that, so he just opens up. It’s not going to make things any worse.

Alex sits on the shockingly white sofa, careful not to spill his beer, and talks. “I was with this regular, she pays me to be her boyfriend for the night.”

“Your girlfriend,” John nods.

Alex waves him off. “If you want to call her that. She paid me not to see other women. The whole boyfriend experience, much more involved than you.” He pokes a finger in John’s direction, sees him wince a little. Still, he looks thoughtful as Alex continues. “She ended it tonight. Someone recognised her and she doesn’t want to be known as the girl who’s sleeping with a _whore._ ”

“Alex…”

Alex waves him off again. He’s exhausted, he didn’t get to eat at the restaurant before getting kicked out (Or, he recalls suddenly, anything but a can of Monster in the last 24 hours). He can’t decide if he wants John to hold him or to just _go away_ so Alex doesn’t have to worry about him leaving. “Enough of that.”

“Fine.” They each drink their beers, looking at each other in silence. It’s excruciating. 

“Alex,” John says finally, catching his eye. “This exclusivity thing you had, with Angel–”

“I’m not doing it with you,” Alex says immediately. No no no. He’s already in too deep. He should have never agreed to do this kind of arrangement in the first place, with Angelica _or_ John.

John frowns. “And why not? Is it a matter of money, because–”

“It’s a matter of _I don’t belong to you, John Laurens_.” Alex snaps, losing his temper. “I know you’re loaded, ok? You don’t need to rub it in.”

“I wasn’t trying to rub it in,” John snaps back. “I’m doing my best. I don’t know what you want from me.”

 _I want you to hold me, and kiss me until I can’t remember anything at all_. “I want to be sitting somewhere where I don’t have to worry about ruining your thousand dollar white sofa cushions,” he spits out instead.

“They’re fine,” John says dismissively. “They’re easy to wash.”

Is he _joking?_ “They’re white,” Alex says inanely.

“So? The housekeeper never seems to have a problem with them.”

Of all the– of course there’s a maid. Of course they wouldn’t make John clean his own damn apartment. “Oh good, you going to have her take me out with the trash?” He drops the beer onto the little coffee table with a clang, not bothering to look for a coaster first. Let it ruin John’s prissy little table.

“Why are you being awful?” John asks sharply, setting his own beer down.

Alex jerks away. “Because I don’t belong to you!” _God forbid_ he have feelings that aren’t happy or horny, no one likes those. He gets to be happy, sexy, or clever, that’s it. It’s not _real_.

“I’m not taking that back,” John says. He’s glaring now, those expressive eyes dark with anger. “It is not a crime to want to spend more time with you–”

“Only when you try to buy it!” Alex shouts. “I do something nice and you offer me _money_ like a cheap whore–”

“I thought that’s what you wanted!” John yells right back. “But, clearly, I was wrong. Because clearly, when a young man is standing a street corner picking people up, he wants to be cuddled and not paid.”

Furious, Alex shoots to his feet. John stands too, the anger rolling off him in waves, and for just a second Alex steps back. Because John is between him and the door, and there are some habits that are hard to break. There will always be that little jolt of fear that runs through him, and he hates that almost as much as he hates John right now. “Stop blocking me.”

“What?” John looks behind himself, and Alex sees him get it. “I’m not going to block you. Who do you think I am?”

“A client,” Alex says sharply.

“Right.” John still hasn’t moved. “A client you don’t care about.”

“It’s a goddamn job, John. Do you ask your waitress out? How about the person who changes your tires?”

“Maybe I would, if they texted me like you did!” John shoots right back. “If they invited me over. If they asked me for help. Or at least I would have, before you started treating me like some creep who wants to hurt you.”

“ _You are hurting me!_ ” Why couldn’t he see that? “You don’t get to decide what we are, John. You paid for a service, and you got it. Transaction over. We’re done.” He tries to step around John, out the door and to the safety of the dark streets.

“I’m not letting you leave me like this, not till we talk.” John steps in front of him again, this time deliberately. “Stop acting like a goddamn wh–” He cuts the word off, doesn’t say it aloud, but it doesn’t matter. Alex now knows it was running through his head, that he got this close to saying it.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asks, the sugar in his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A ‘god damn _whore_ , maybe?” John is still glaring, unrepentant in the moment of his fury. “Is that what you were about to call me? All this ‘sex worker’ business goes out the door when you get mad? What’s next? You gonna block the door again? Break my leg so I can’t leave?” It’s a low blow, but he’s angry enough to make it.

And it lands. He sees the anger start turning into sick on John’s face, and sees the hurt that lies underneath that anger. Good. Let him be hurt. At least things are even that way.

“Move,” Alex orders him, “if you can bear to let your _goddamn whore_ go.”

John jumps out of the way like he’s been electrocuted. “Alex–” 

“Don’t contact me anymore. We’re done.” Is this how Angelica felt? Empty, final? “Find yourself another plaything, I’m done with rich people who think they can buy me.” He wrenches the door open and leaves.

Behind him, John slams the door with enough force to rattle the wall.

Alex just makes it to the street before the tears come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical John Laurens actually did think white was the easiest colour to keep clean. I certainly hope Alex laughed in his face. (John also handled rejection by saying "Fine I never liked you anyway" homeboy had a worse temper than AHam) So they both say a bunch of crap they don't mean, just to hurt one another. And I trust I don't have to explain why John (almost) calling Alex a slur is wrong, even if Alex uses that word himself.
> 
> Tumblr is [here](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/) and I love talking to people so hit me up. I am still taking prompts for this verse, though they might be a little delayed between the fic exchange and nano. I'm also going to be making a few posts on there about the research that went into this fic about sex work, as well as how some politics and laws intersects with the plot here.
> 
> And, as always, comment and kudos are loved to keep me motivated. 
> 
> Next chapter: The Pining, part 1


	7. The Process Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it’s the beer talking, but John finds himself nodding. It makes sense, after all. Wallowing in pain isn’t going to fix anything.
> 
> Get over Alex.
> 
> He can do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohoo yay nanowrimo. I'm making good progress. 
> 
> Thanks to [Chloe](http://unforgivingemotions.tumblr.com/), who betas this. And to the non tumblr people who translated the french so y'all aren't subjected to my high school level butcherings.
> 
> Reminder that we have [one shots for this 'verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/565606)! Still the same two, but I'm looking to write more so feel free to prompt me in the comments or on tumblr.

"Laf," John moans, facedown on the bed, for what feels like the hundredth time. "I screwed up."

"You did not screw up," Laf's answers, his voice emanating from the kitchen. "You spoke your mind."

"I called him that word," John groans, listening to Laf’s footsteps as he comes over to bother John. "That was awful. I'm awful. No wonder he hates me."

"Mon ami," Laf starts. A cool glass clinks against the side of his head, making John look up. Laf holds out a cocktail, both eyebrows raised. "Drink. You will feel better."

Hesitantly, John takes a sip. He nearly spits it out. "What is this?"

"A white Russian," Lafayette shrugs. "Sort of. I'm experimenting."

"It tastes like you ran over a cat."

"I don't even know what that means."

"Can I just have vodka?"

"Yes," Lafayette holds up a hand, "but you will drink it with orange juice like a civilized person.”

John can do that. It’s pretty much all he can do, aside from staring out the window and wallowing in his own failure. 

God, what had he _done_?

He’d used a slur. At _Alex_. He’d grabbed him, said hurtful things, and now Alex will never willingly see him again.

“You need to lighten up, John.” Laf pats him on the head, fingers brushing over his curls. “Let’s go out tonight.”

“Don’t want to go out.”

“You’ll feel better. We’ll go get drunk, party, find some people to dance with. I can even ask Arienne to come, if you want more company.”

John lifts his head and gives Lafayette a look. “The last time I went out with you and your girlfriend, you tried to take me swinging.”

“I thought you would like it! You always said you liked no string attached sex, how was I supposed to know you only liked doing it with men?”

John just groans, putting his head back down.

Lafayette is having none of it. “Get up. No more moping. We are watching your stupid action movies and drinking our faces off.”

John huffs out a laugh. “I don’t think that’s the phrase you’re supposed to use…”

“Drinking. Our. Faces. Off. Boire comme un trou. _Die Hard, Terminator, Batman vs. Superman_. We are watching them all.”

John’s not getting out of this one. They sit on Laf’s sofa, popcorn in one hand and beer in the other. John loses track of how many beers he’s had somewhere around the end of _Live Free or Die Hard_. Somewhere around the middle of _Terminator Genisys_ , they switch to vodka.

By the time they’re watching Superman beat Batman to a pulp, John’s forgotten why he’s sad. He’s also forgotten the title of the movie they’re watching, and also how to touch his face, which is tingling. Ha.

“Laf,” he says urgently, because this feels urgent. “Laf.”

“Quoi, mon ami?” Laf is so nice. So pretty and nice. John’s so happy to have him as a friend.

“Je t'aime aussi, John, mais puis-je demande pourquoi?” _I like you too, John, but why are you saying this?_

Oh, he’s talking out loud. “‘Like you,” John slurs. “I like him too. Laf, Laf.” He’s tugging on Lafayette’s sleeve, urgent again.

“Quoi?”

“I think I love him, Laf. Alexander.” He dregs up the French equivalent, because Laf’s English abilities tend to get worse the more he drinks. “Je l'aime. Coup de foudre.” _Love at first sight_. 

Lafayette only blows out his breath of air. “Merde.”

“Merde is right.”

“Penses-tu, qu’il pardonne toi?” _Do you think he'll forgive you?_

“Non.” John shook his head, fighting the sudden urge to cry. “I did something unforgivable, I think.” It’s clear now: Alex can do better. He can do better than John, who has nothing to offer but a trust fund and the opportunity to tiptoe back inside the closet and be his secret boyfriend.

God, he’s awful. He’s going to die along with twelve cats and it will be _all his fault._

“Merde,” Laf says again, shaking his head. “I’m too drunk for this. Snacks.” He stands, reeling only slightly, and makes for the kitchen. John just sits, eyes closed against the action of Batman breaking into LexCrop, listening to Laf demolish his supply of easily consumed snack foods. Laf comes back a minute later, drops a Twinkie on John’s lap and looks him in the eye. “You need to find a way to get over him.”

“What?”

“If he’s not going to forgive you, then all this mourning is for nothing. You need to get over him. And next time not screw up.”

Maybe it’s the beer talking, but John finds himself nodding. It makes sense, after all. Wallowing in pain isn’t going to fix anything.

Get over Alex.

He can do that.

Only he can’t, because when he wakes up the next morning it’s with a hangover so powerful it might actually be able to alter reality. An unholy groan escapes the second he opens his eyes, the glare through his gauzy curtains is blinding. John whines at the pain pounding away in his head, groping blindly for the bottle of painkillers he keeps on the bedside table.

He pokes two ibuprofen down his throat and lurches to his feet, right to the bathroom to drink from the tap. It’s closer than the kitchen and his mouth tastes horrible. Then, water and painkillers consumed, he falls back into the bed.

He wakes several hours later, judging by the muted light coming in through the curtains, to the sounds of someone bustling around in the kitchen. He still has a headache, but a Gatorade and another painkiller should fix that. At least he can (sort of) function now.

The woman cleaning his kitchen sink looks up brightly as he pads in. “Oh, Mr. Laurens! I didn’t know you were in there.”

“Hi Anita. Is there Gatorade left?”

“Already cleaned out your fridge. Gatorade is on the right,” she tells him.

He retrieves the bottle, inwardly complaining about the brightness of the apartments. Windows are nice, but not when he has a hangover. Time to retreat gracefully into his room, then. He grabs his laptop on the way.

“I’m just going to be a few more minutes, Mr Laurens, provided there’s nothing scary in the bedroom. In case you plan on having people over.”

“No plans.” He shakes his head. “And the bedroom’s fine, I’m going to rest.”

“With the number of bottles I just recycled?” Anita flashes a grin. “You’re going to need it. If you need anything when you wake up, just text me.”

So John hunkers down with _Game of Thrones_ and sips Gatorade until his phone beeps.

_From: Laf  
REMEMBER: you need to move on_

He doesn’t remember much of last night, but it’s clear whatever he said to Laf wasn’t good. 

_From: John  
How do you even remember anything_

_From: Laf  
I had four beers. You had SIX and three screwdrivers._

_From: John  
Fair_

_From: Laf_  
You whined about how much you love him and he’ll never forgive you  
You need to move on 

Laf is right. Laf is regrettably, unfortunately, right. The only problem is that John’s never been in this position before. One of the benefits of never dating is that he’s never needed to get over someone.

It seems like the best way would be to ignore it and hope it goes away - it works for most other things in his life at least. Phone calls from his dad, invitations to frats, the girls to whom Laf kept introducing him… eventually they went away. The feelings would too. 

Maybe what he needs is a rebound.

Yes, that’s it. Someone to keep his mind off Alex. Someone wonderful and kind and different enough that he won’t even think of what he’s lost. Determinedly, he pulls out his phone and starts browsing the web. This is how it should be. Not luminous boys on street corners, clever and sharp and real. On his phone he’s got ads laid out, all of them clearly defined. 

One catches his eye

_Spend a night with ~*~ M A D I S O N ~*~ your DREAM GUY - SAFE - DISCREET - OPENMINDED - 24 '8_

The picture is of a young man with intelligent eyes, dark skin and short hair. He looks even smaller than Alex. He’s fit though, the shirtless torso displaying a rather impressive set of abs. John scrolls down to well cut hips and oh-

That’s also impressive.

He swallows hard, then reads the description.

_From MILD to WILD let M A D I S O N take care of all your needs! 5’6, classy gentleman, a Nigerian Prince here to sweep you away from your troubles. Tell me your deepest fantasies and watch them come true. Spoil yourself (and spoil me) call M A D I S O N 646-555-1017 NO GAMES NO BLOCKED NUMBERS_

John hesitates only for a moment, then hits call. It rings twice, then a voice on the other side says “Hello, this is Madison.”

“Hi,” Why is his mouth suddenly dry? He’s done this before. He’s done this _many_ times before. So why is he suddenly nervous? “I saw your ad, and I’ve very much like to spend some time with you tonight.”

“Sure, baby,” the voice on the other end says smoothly. “How much time? It’s 150 for a half hour, 250 for an hour, and 400 for two hours.”

“Do you do all night?” John asked hopefully.

“No can do, I’m afraid,” Madison says, then sighs. “I almost wish I did, you sound so sexy. Why don’t we start with two hours and go from there? Incall or out?”

“Outcall,” John says, because it’s not like he has roommates and this will be easier in his own apartment. “And that sounds fine.” He gives Madison his address, and Madison promises to be there in twenty.

That leaves him with approximately twenty minutes to freak out. Anita’s cleaned everything but the bedroom, so John heads in there and starts shoving piles of clothes under the bed. He goes to grab them each a drink, then reconsiders. Alex made a point of never drinking when he was working, he can assume Madison is the same. 

He sets two cans of Coke on the table, then wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. Should he change? He should change. He’s wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday, and they’re probably permanently smelling of beer by now. 

He’s just heading back into the bedroom when the doorbell rings. John freezes for a moment, then races over to open it.

Madison looks exactly like his pictures, thankfully. He has to tilt his head up to look at John, but he radiates a calmness that John finds reassuring. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Madison gives him a questioning look, and John quickly moves aside to let him in. “I’m Madison.”

“John,” John says simply. 

Madison takes a seat on the sofa, stretching his legs out. "I like your place. Very classy."

 _Alex hates my place._ Especially the sofa in which Madison is sitting. Alex had looked so tense perched on it, the plush cushions at odds with the sharpness of his personality. 

_Don't think about Alex._ Madison, he was here with Madison. John focuses his attention back on the man just in time to catch his question.

“Is this for me?” He’s indicating the coke. 

“Yeah,” 

“What a gentleman.” Madison flashes him a grin. “You and I will get along fine, I think.”

John shifts, uneasy. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Just you. Come and sit,” Madison says, and pats the seat next to him. John does, put keeps enough space between them that he can breath.

"So? How do you want this?"

"Hm?"

"How do you want the evening to go?" Madison leans forward, wets his lips. "What are your fantasies?"

"Uh..." John's brain stops for a moment. Somehow he doesn't want to say _the boyfriend experience_ again. "I like kissing," he says finally.

Madison frowns. "I'm afraid I don't do that. Girlfriend back home."

"Of course," John rushes to reassure him. "What do you do?"

"Massages, French, Greek- that's oral and anal," he adds, seeing the look on John's face. "Kink, top or bottom, but I have limits for that. I'll call you whatever you want: Master, Daddy..."

"Just John is fine," he says hastily. 

"Condoms are mandatory for any kind of sex, I have my own. And then whatever else you think up, role play or toys. Like my ad says, I'm pretty open minded."

"Can we do the massage thing then?" John asks hesitantly. 

"Sure. We can do whatever you want, John. Why don't you get undressed?” Madison stood. “We can take this to the bedroom, if you’d like?”

“Bedroom is good.” Madison is just staring at him patiently, waiting. “Oh! Through here.” He leads the way down the hall to the master bedroom, the snow-white duvet that Alex probably would have hated just as much as the sofa. It’s king-sized, and when he looks at it he can’t help but think back to the double bed with mismatched linens pushed against the wall in Alex’s apartment. That had been real, if nothing else. John’s apartment is a shell - pretty but lifeless. He didn’t decorate it, he doesn’t entertain. He spends most of his free time at Laf’s. It’s a place to sleep in, nothing more.

Alex’s apartment was shabby, sure, but at least it was alive. Books and boxes and clothes strewn on the floor, dishes in the sink and a Star Wars poster on the wall. It looked lived in, vibrantly so. 

But he wasn’t there, and he’d never get to go back there again. John takes his time stripping down, and by the time he’s naked, Madison has joined him. He’s still fully clothed. “You’re not getting undressed?”

Madison hardly even blinks. “I can, if that’s what you want.”

 _I want to know what you want_. He bites it back. “Yes, please.”

As Madison strips, John lays down on the bed and tries to figure out the source of the knot in his stomach. This is supposed to be _good_. Sex with a professional, someone who knows what they’re doing and will respect all his wishes. Someone who can clearly communicate the status quo. This is what he needs.

Madison settles his weight onto the small of John’s back, hands digging in to John’s shoulders. Unlike Alex, he doesn’t say a word. Just strokes rhythmically over John’s shoulders and waist.

It’s… nice. Madison’s not pressing very hard, but the tension in John’s shoulders is slowly starting to dissipate. Until Madison has him sit up to keep working. Then the hands start drifting lower and lower, brushing down his collarbone and over his nipples.

The first time it happens, John jerks in surprise and Madison says “Easy there.” The second time, he forces himself to stay still. He’s supposed to be enjoying this, after all. The end goal is sex. So he lets Madison’s hands roam, trying to close his eyes and just drift away.

When Madison palms his dick, John flushes in shame. He’s still soft. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Madison’s voice is a quiet rumble. “It’s very natural to be nervous. Is this your first time?”

“No!” Now he’s even more ashamed. “The opposite actually. But I was seeing this guy, and we had a fight, and now-”

“Shhhh,” Madison cuts him off, one hand stroking over John’s stomach. “It’s fine. Just let yourself feel.”

But he doesn’t want to let himself feel. He wants to tell Madison about Alex. “Have you ever fallen in love with one of your clients?”

A pause. “I fall in love with all of my clients, in a way. They’re all very special to me. But I have a girlfriend that I’m very much in love with, and I’m not interested in leaving her.”

“And if you didn’t have a girlfriend?” John presses. 

“No.” His tone is firm. “I enjoy spending time with my clients, and I enjoy being able to provide them with a service. But I don’t feel the need to date them.”

“No more than if you were a waiter or a mechanic,” John says, remembering Alex’s words.

Madison’s hands returned to his skin. “Exactly.” 

John sighs. That wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. “There was this guy, you see, and he was—he’s a sex worker too—”

“And you feel in love with him?” Madison asks politely.

“No! I didn’t. I definitely didn’t. It was more of… a crush? It was just that he seemed so real, so genuine…” He doesn’t want to say _unlike you,_ because that would be rude, but Madison seems to pick up on it anyway and narrows his eyes. “Fine, okay? I’m in love with him. But it doesn’t matter now, because he hates me and never wants to see me again.”

“What happened?” Madison asks, but it sounds almost like a sigh. John doesn’t care. He wants to tell this story, and it’s all the invitation he needs.

“I called him a whore. Well, not exactly. Almost called him that. I was angry, we were fighting, and I said it to be hurtful. And now I’ve ruined everything, he will never forgive me and he doesn’t want to speak to me again.”

“Well,” Madison shakes his head slightly, and curves his mouth into a smile. “I’m here now, and I certainly don’t hate you. So what do you want to do?”

The problem is, he has no idea. He stares at Madison for a long moment, trying to think of something that won’t remind him painfully of Alex. Nothing comes to mind.

“Is there anything you’ve always wanted to do?” Madison prompts. He crawls across the bed, into John’s personal space. “Something you’ve never told anyone else?”

John scrambles away. “Actually…” This is terrible. He’s a terrible person. “Can you just go? Keep the money for two hours, it’s yours, I just-”

“Can’t get the other guy out of your head.” Madison shrugs, unconcerned, and it’s that that makes John even more sure he’s making the right decision. “It happens.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Madison pulls his slacks on, then the shirt. “You paid for two hours and I get to go home after thirty minutes, that’s what I call a deal. But honestly? Can I offer a bit of perspective?”

“ _Please_ ,”

Madison looks him right in the eye. “It sounds like you hurt him. Maybe try focusing your energy on that? And not on how much hurting him sucks for _you_.”

“Right.” That hurts. It hurts because Madison is _right_. Had he lost sight of that somehow, in all of his mourning?

“I don’t know if he’s going to forgive you. He might. But if he doesn’t, there’s nothing you can do but be better,” Madison finishes, smoothing his sock into place.

“See you around, John.” Madison gives John a short little wave as he leaves, unconcerned for the small bomb he just dropped on John’s psyche. John just sits on the bed, contemplating his sins.

Be better. Move on. Well, no time like the present. He pulls out his phone and takes a deep breath.

_From: John  
I have something to tell you_

_From: Anita  
Did you trash your apartment_

_From: John  
I’m gay._

He swallows. It’s easier to say it over text than out loud, but-

_From: Anita  
I know, kid. I clean under your bed._

_From: John  
?_

_From: Anita  
Hide your porno magazines better next time you want to stay in the closet._

_From: Anita  
Also, it’s ok. I’m glad you told me, and I won’t tell your dad._

_From: John  
Thank you_

It’s a start, at least.

Thank god he’s still got some beer left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world of online sex ads is both compelling and bizarre, to the point where I'm almost sad this fic is focused on street level sex work. Let's put it this way - Madison's ad would be considered subdued. Most of this is taken from actually reading sex work ads and an old set of interviews I did with a sex worker who got most of her clients this way.
> 
> Tumblr is [here](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/) and I love talking to people so hit me up. And, as always, comment and kudos are loved to keep me motivated. 
> 
> Next chapter - the pining part 2 (Alex)


	8. Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Maria waits him out, just watching silently until he had nothing else to say. Then she pulls him into her arms and sighs. "Look at us. The wonder twins. Battered up hookers."_
> 
> _He smiles. "Doing their best."_
> 
> _She kisses him, dry and quick. "Always."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Chloe](http://unforgivingemotions.tumblr.com/), who betas this.
> 
> extra warnings for violence including domestic violence and violence with a weapon.

"Pierre," Alex moans from the sofa. "Why is my life a disaster?"

"Because you're extremely short-sighted and have issues with intimacy?" Pierre offers, straightening up. He’s been shoving clothes into a bag on the other side of the room for the past few minutes.

Okay, that's a little too accurate for Alex's liking. "Can't you just be supportive?" he grumbles. "Tell me it'll all be okay and crap."

Pierre snorts, walking over and resting his hand on Alex's shoulder. "It'll be ok. Also, Santa is real and we live in a penthouse."

Alex shrugs him off. "When did you get so sarcastic? Your _boyfriend_ is teaching you bad habits."

"And how to swear in three more languages." Which Pierre proceeds to demonstrate. At least, Alex thinks he does; German and Russian not among the languages he knows. 

"Lovely. And where are you off to?" Alex inquires.

"Weekend with Friedrich. My half of rent is on the table." Pierre hesitates. "I'm sure he'd be willing to cover yours too, if you wanted..."

"No thank you. I don't need handouts from Steuben." There’s always a price for those things, and he’s sick and tired of paying it. 

"Alright." Pierre doesn't look convinced, but he shrugs and picks up his bag. "Try not to whine too much while I’m gone.”

Alex lets out another groan, shoving his face back into the couch cushions. “I do not whine.”

“Bull.” Pierre folds his arms, looking at Alex critically. “You have done nothing but whine since you ditched that boy. ‘Oh John this’, ‘Oh I’ve wrecked everything with John’, ‘Oh John will never forgive me for storming out like that.’”

Alex throws a pillow at Pierre, who ducks, then flicks him on the side of the head. “Frankly, I’m sick of it.”

Alex pulls a face. It’s not like he didn’t have good reason to whine; he’d been an idiot, shouting and then storming out at John. But then… it’s not like it was going to last anyways. There was always going to be an argument, it was always going to end in John letting him storm out. He couldn’t be placating and pleasant 100% of the time, hell, not even 50% of the time. So, John was always going to leave. Better to have it be now, before it hurts any more. 

“Fine, fine, go off with your stupid sugar daddy. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

“His company _is_ better,” Pierre smirks. “I'll be back on Monday, probably. Or maybe Tuesday."

"Have fun,” Alex says, but then his smile fades. "Pierre. You know it's not going to last, right? Steuben likes love, but he never stays." He wouldn't do it meanly, Alex knows. There would be a talk over coffee, or maybe tea, where Steuben would explain that he didn't think they were going to work out anymore. Because Steuben has a type–extreme youth–and once his boys no longer fit that, he tends to lose interest.

Pierre's mouth twitches, a rueful sort of smile. “I know. But there's nothing wrong with hoping."

"Just don't get your heart broken." He'd been there before: with Thom, with John. If he couldn't learn from his mistakes, maybe he could spare Pierre the same pain. 

"I won't. Promise. And even if I do..." He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

"I'm not your keeper," Alex sighs. Stubborn to the last. “Be careful though. Have you seen Adams lately?” Usually the police officer was incapable of going more than a few days without cruising down the streets and harassing the prostitutes there. Alex hasn’t seen him in a week.

“No.” Pierre frowns. “Maybe he’s finally given up.”

Alex is already shaking his head. “Trust me, you don’t want that. Adams is bad, but getting a new cop on that beat would be worse. There’s been no arrests since Adams took over the area.” Of course, they’d paid for it in other ways,but Alex would rather be free and on his knees than in a jail cell. Even if it meant other crime flourishing right along side the prostitutes. Three people had been robbed in the neighbourhood last week, and there were no leads at all. “Just be careful.”

Pierre rolls his eyes. “Qui Papa. See you Monday.”

With Pierre gone, Alex fixes himself an easy supper and starts preparing for work. With no Angel and no John, he has to start hustling again. That means a light eyeliner to make his eyes pop, and hair pulled up with a few wisps hanging around his face. He thinks it over for a few moments, then grabs the razor. While he likes a bit of facial hair, it does make him look older. A little bit of gloss on his lips - not enough to show, just enough to make sure his chapped lips don't crack mid blow-job. Finally, he makes sure he's stretched enough that he can take someone with minimal prep. Anal sex is low on the list of things he prefers to do for money, but needs must.

He's just checking himself over in the bathroom mirror when the phone rings. 

_John_.

It has to be John, right? John, calling to apologize, to say he wants to see Alex, to say that he loves Alex and wants to be with him–

Heart thudding in his chest, Alex scrambles for the phone. "Hello?"

"Alex? I'm sorry." It's Maria's voice. He’s disappointed for a split second, until he realizes how _wrecked_ she sounds.

"Maria? Are you crying?"

"No." A sniffle. "Maybe. Can you come and get me?"

"Yes. I'm coming right now. I'm grabbing my keys and running downstairs." As he jogs down the staircase, he keeps talking. "What happened?"

"I left James," she says, voice hollow. "He hurt me."

"I'm catching a bus right now. I see one coming," Alex narrates as he flags down the bus. "How did he hurt you?"

"H-hit me, threw me, _god_ , Alex what am I going to do?"

"You're going to come home with me and be safe and then we're going to figure it out from there. Where are you now?"

"The park across from the house."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

It feels like eons though, before he's jogging up the path to see her on a bench under the willow trees. Her red dress is torn and muddy, and even in the dark he can see the bruises on her arms. _Bastard._ "Hey." He kneels down in front of her. "Look at me. Is your stuff still inside the house?"

"Yes. I just had to get out of there."

"Okay. Is there anything really important you need?"

She tells him. It's not much - papers in a lockbox under the bed, her uniform, her purse, a locket that was her mother's. There's stuff she'll remember later, he knows, but they can deal with that then.

"Good. Stay here." He rises, letting his fury at her situation power his steps as he shoves her front door open.

James is there, sitting on the sofa and stinking of booze. Evidence of the night's violence is all around him - a smashed plate, all the knick-knacks on the mantle scattered on the floor. Alex picks one up, an angel carved from wood, and shoves it into a Walmart bag he grabs from the kitchen. He goes room by room, shoving in any necessities and anything that jumps out at him as obviously Maria's. Her extensive bag of makeup, her favourite mug, her jacket.

He's halfway through grabbing the basic necessity of clothes from their room down the hall when a shadow falls over him. "You stealing my wife, you bastard whore?"

"None of your business if I was, James," he replies shortly. Her work uniform, where was her work uniform? "She's left you. She's not coming back."

"She needs me," he insists. "She's a wild thing. A liar, she lies about everything. Cheating on me with you and every other man that crosses her path..."

"Oh?" Alex lets his fury burn, just for a moment. "So all those times you pimped her out 'cause you were in debt, that's fine. Just business. But the moment she does something of her own volition–"

"It is her duty to obey her husband!" James roared back. "To respect him! To care for him!"

Alex finally sees her uniform, half hidden under the bed. He grabs it, gets the lockbox too, and stands. Brushes his palms off on his jeans. "Well. You're not her husband anymore. Move."

Shouting men like James don't scare him anymore. He's dealt with far too many of them over the years. And as much as James blusters, as much as he shouts, they both know who has the power here. 

And you know what? Alex is pissed enough to take advantage of it. He shoulders James aside, not waiting for him to move

"Wait!" James shouts, following him. Alex doesn't turn. "I'm not done, dammit!"

Alex ignores him, shutting the door and locking it with Maria's keys. James is piss drunk, it'll take him a minute to figure that one out.

Four packed Walmart bags in hand, he crosses the street to get Maria. "Come on, let's go home."

Once they get in the apartment, he deposits her things on the bed and starts microwaving water for tea. 

"I can sleep on the sofa," Maria objects immediately. 

"Absolutely not." The microwave beeps. Alex drops two tea bags in and sets it for another minute. "What kind of gentleman does that? Now, you still have your job? When are you working next?"

"11am, lunch shift," she groans.

"I got your uniform, it still looks clean enough to wear. You're going to get enough sleep, do your makeup wizardry, and go in there and keep your job." Waitresses could make a good deal of money. Enough that, with scrimping and saving and roommates, she could leave the sex industry and live independent of James.

"I just don't know what to do now," Maria says slowly. "We've been together since I was in high school. I keep thinking, God, I'm making such a huge mistake–"

"Hey," he grabs her chin. "You're not. You just need to keep your mind off it for a few hours. Want to make out?"

She snorts. "Not particularly."

"What?" He tries to look offended. "Are the pants not doing it for you? They're new."

"They're lovely, very tight," she says dryly. "Is it true then? I heard you broke up with your girl."

"She broke up with me," he admits. "And who from?"

She shrugs. "Andre. We were working a double." A double - two prostitutes at the same time for one client. "He also said you broke up with that boy, too. Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Yeah, that one was me." As much as he doesn't want to talk about it, he did promise to distract her. "I just preempted it. It wasn't going to last, Maria."

"So?" she scoffed. "If he's paying you that much, what does it matter? Ride that pony as long as he's willing to pay for it."

As if he's going to take advantage of John like that. "It's just easier this way," he says instead. 

She looks him over once, unimpressed. "And you have feelings for him."

"I do not!"

"You do. Look at you. You love him and you're too scared to admit it so instead you break up with him?"

"It's just easier this way, okay?" he bursts out. "I'm not cut out for that life. That life people like Andre live, the high class escorts who charm people, who get paid to go to parties and have dinner and go on vacations to Miami. I can't be that person. And I can't be the person they want, an actual law student they can date and feel respectable. I'm just a whore, Maria, the kind that ends up dead in a ditch because they got into the wrong car."

Maria waits him out, just watching silently until he had nothing else to say. Then she pulls him into her arms and sighs. "Look at us. The wonder twins. Battered up hookers."

He smiles. "Doing their best."

She kisses him, dry and quick. "Always. Now put on a movie.”

They don’t have cable in the apartment, but he sticks a bargain-bin DVD in. It’s Con Air, not exactly an Oscar winner, but he’s never claimed to have good taste in movies. 

Midway through the opening scenes, his phone starts ringing. 

_It’s not John_ , he tells himself, even as Maria pauses the movie and he snatches his phone.

It’s not. The call display reads _The General_ , an old joke from the campaign trail. “Senator Washington,” Alex says into the phone. “How can I help you?”

“I didn’t interrupt you, did I?” Washington asks. “I was working late.”

“No, sir.” Just his pity party.

“I have a proposition for you, Alexander,” Washington says. Alex likes how he says it- _Alexander_ , his full name, with a seriousness under it. “As you may have heard from Knox, I’ve had to fire several members of my team for insider trading. I’m afraid I’m still without a director of communications, and I was very impressed with your work during my campaign. I would like to offer you a job.”

Alex does a double take (Which, being on the phone, only makes Maria look at him oddly). “Sir?” He can’t be serious. He just can’t be. Washington could not possibly be calling him up to offer him an actual full time job.

He knows what Senate communication directors make. It’s enough to move him and Pierre out of this crappy apartment and into one where the running water works like it should. It’s enough that he’ll never have to blow someone for money again.

“Sir,” he says, trying to control the sudden swirl of emotions. _Don’t get excited. You’re setting yourself up for failure._ “Sir, you are aware that I didn’t finish high school?” _Are you aware, sir, that I’m a pertinacious failure who can’t seem to do anything right?_

“Irrelevant,” Washington rumbles. “Your mind, your loyalty, and your work ethic are all that I need. All of which you have demonstrated admirably. So?”

Alex hesitates. He feels like he should warn Washington, tell him there’s someone better out there. Tell him that Alex doesn’t deserve this opportunity, that good things aren’t supposed to happen to people like him.

“So?” Washington prompts again. “Are you too busy with your freelancing?”

 _Don’t let it slip away._ This is the chance of a lifetime, Alex knows. “No, sir. I would be happy to accept, sir, provided you are satisfied with my qualifications.”

“I am,” Washington says. “I will see you tomorrow morning to discuss terms of employment, 7am sharp. And Alexander?”

“Yes sir?”

A delicate pause. “Do ensure you dress professionally,” Washington says. “Goodnight.”

Dress professionally? Alex frowns. He always dressed professionally during the campaign, took it as a point of pride. Then, with a flash of horror, he remembers walking into Washington’s office two weeks ago after a night of working on the streets. He hadn’t even _showered_ first. 

Well. No more of that. He’s got a job now, a fancy nine-to-five job with a salary and benefits. A real chance at a different life.

“What’s got you all flushed?” Maria asks him critically. “Let me guess: rich boy wants to make up and play house.”

“I just got offered a job,” Alex says. It sounds strange, those words in his mouth. _I got offered a job_. A respectable one that would allow him to live a respectable life.

“Well, hot damn. Where? Bussing tables again?”

“Communications director for Senator Washington.” His mouth is dry.

She peers up at him through a lock of curls, then swears loudly. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m serious.” He sits down onto the couch before he can do something stupid, like faint. “I have a job as a communications director for a senator.”

“And does he know about…” Maria waves a hand around the shabby apartment, then at his sexy attire. “This?”

“He probably suspects,” Alex admits. “I may have gone into the office dressed like this.”

“You didn’t.” She giggles. “Before or after the sex?”

He winces. “After.” 

“Oh my god. You impossible. Get over here you ridiculous-” She pulls him over and kisses him on the mouth. It’s deeper than the others, fiercer, and tastes something like victory.

“Thought you said you didn’t want to make out.” He smirks when she finally pulls away.

“I changed my mind. You are the goddamn luckiest man in this whole street, you know that?” She shoves him back against the couch so she can straddle him. It’s a position they’re both comfortable with, Maria leaning down to kiss him again and again, breaking away only when he starts kissing her neck instead.

It should be an easy slide into some celebration sex with a friend. Maybe more than a friend, since she finally left her husband. But her curls tickle his skin the same way John’s did, and the memory is enough to bring him back to thoughts of their disastrous fight.

“Alex?” Maria stills in his lap. “You with me? Not having some sort of flashback?”

“Still with you,” he rushes to reassure her. “Sorry. I was just thinking about... about nothing.”

“Alright.” She frowns, but it quickly turns back into a groan as he starts kissing the tops of her breasts. This feels wrong. There should be hard muscle under his hands, not soft curves. But he does it anyway, trying to chase away the memory of John’s touch. Lets Maria lay him out on the sofa, stripping off his shirt. 

He’s done this with John, too. John had loved nothing more than to strip him bare and kiss every inch of skin, like he was mapping out every pane of Alex’s body. It had felt amazing, being so wanted. Being wanted by John.

Ok. Fine. Maybe he’s a little bit in love. But it’s not like his feelings have any effect on things. He screwed that one up royally, and John’s not talking to him. He’s going to have to learn to live without sweet kisses and freckles.

Suddenly, he realizes that there’s no more kissing. Maria’s just sitting on his hips, watching him with a distinctly displeased expression. It’s quite possible he’s been staring into the cushions for the past few minutes instead of making love to her.

“Hi,” he tries.

“Hi.” She doesn’t look happy. “Back in the present?”

He flushes. “Yes. I”m sorry.”

“Whatever.” She rolls off him, sitting on the floor, and jabs him with one foot. “You do that with your clients? Daydream about rich boy? I can’t believe people pay you for that.”

“I do not,” Alex protests, “daydream while working. And his name is John.”

“Oh, _John_.” She snorts. “Go tell lover boy you’d rather screw him.”

“I can’t,” Alex says. “I told you. I screwed it up. He wants nothing to do with me.”

“He wants _something_ –”

“Maria.” This isn’t the time for dirty jokes.

“Seriously.” She looks up at him from the floor. “Just ask if he wants to meet up. Screw his brains out, and keep your mouth shut for anything else. People don’t like you when you’re mouthy.”

 _John does._ He had always been more honest with John than any other client. “What kind of relationship is that? I’m not going to screw him into taking me back. And then… what? We date? Ride off into the sunset together? Right, until he realizes he has better options.”

“Please, like any of those other options would be better in the sack than you,” Maria snorts.

He frowns at her. “I just wanted it to be more than sex. That even if I didn’t want to sleep with him, he’d still be there.” And, until Alex had so rudely insulted him and walked out, it had seemed like John had wanted that too.

Maria sighs. She runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it all down. “I know. But that’s a lot to ask of the world. Still,” she rallies, trying to smile. “To better things, right? Losing baggage, gaining jobs.”

“Better jobs, or bigger rings.” Alex smirks.

She hits him. “I know you did not just quote _Legally Blonde_ at me. I hate that movie.”

“Because it’s stupid and makes a plot about how easy it is for rich white girls to get into school even if they have no qualifications,” Alex recites. “I know, but I like it. It gives me hope.”

Maria sighs. “Ok. No more pity party. You can make it up to me by going and getting us some ice cream.”

“Ice cream?”

“Yes, you dingbat, ice cream. We’re both newly single, we deserve to watch _The Notebook_ and eat ice cream.”

“Fine.” He can do that. She’s had a long night. Actually, he reflects, they both have. “Flavour preference?” 

“Mint chocolate chip.” 

“Got it.” He blows her a kiss from the doorway, just to make sure things don’t get too weird between them.

It’s late. The streetlights are coming on, lighting his way like ghosts in the gloom. Alex isn’t bothered. He’s been moving through the streets of New York at night since he was sixteen years old. He cuts across the street, ignoring the honk of a car horn behind him, and ducks down an alley.

The corner store’s not far. He’ll grab ice cream, and maybe some chips, and he and Maria will have a nice night in. After that…. Well, one day at a time. It’s thrilling and just a little bit terrifying, actually.

He has a new job, the potential for a whole new life. One where he can finally be what he pretends to be: respectable, cultured, educated. The kind of person someone like John would be proud of.

Alex is so lost in thought he doesn’t notice the car that pulls up behind him, or the sound of a door opening and closing. It all fades into the background noise of New York. The first and only warning he gets is that of a safety being clicked off, then the cold metal of a gun barrel being pressed into his back.

He stops. Tries to repress a sigh. “Really, Officer? Can we not do this without the theatrics?” He _hates_ when Adams pulls out his gun. It’s such overblown machismo: ridiculous, posturing, and more than a little terrifying. He knows Adams can do whatever he wants; he doesn’t need a gun shoved in his face to prove it. Adams doesn’t usually sneak up behind him though.

“I would suggest,” a voice behind him says tersely, and oh. That’s not Adam’s voice, “that you put your hands up and shut your mouth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..don't hate me?
> 
> Tumblr is [here](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/) and I love talking to people so hit me up. I am also taking prompts for this verse on tumblr (And sometimes in the comments)
> 
> And, as always, comment and kudos are loved to keep me motivated.


	9. Trial By Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Alex was arrested," the woman says. "He left his phone here. They only give you one phone call, and I'm the only number he knows, but I can't get him out."_
> 
> _"What do you need? Bail?" He can do that._
> 
> _She curses. "I need you to do something!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is now grouped in with the one shots, as some of those are gonna be more-than-one shots. Going to get into them more after I get this fic finished - the goal is before christmas!
> 
> Thanks to [Chloe](http://unforgivingemotions.tumblr.com/), as always who betas this.
> 
> warnings for police brutality in this chapter :(

It's two am, and John is dreaming. Later, he'll try to say he knew ahead of time—that there had been dread gnawing in his gut all day, a certainty that no matter what he did, Alex wasn't done with him yet.

But at the moment? He's dreaming, fast asleep under a snow white duvet, smiling at the pleasant pictures of Alex and Enrique Iglesias that parade through his mind. Not a care in the world until his phone buzzes on the bedside table, startling him into wakefulness.

" _Laf_ " he groans, seeing the time. "Get your damn booty call to drive you home. Or your girlfriend." He has better things to do, like sleep.

He thumps back into bed. The phone buzzes again. "Fine." He gropes for the phone, and stops dead when he sees the name. _Alex_.

"Hello?" 

"Rich boy?" It's not Alex's voice. It's a woman. _Must be his girlfriend,_ John thinks immediately. Of course he went back to her, someone who he doesn't have to hide with.

"This is John," he confirms, stomach sinking. Is that what Alex calls him when he's not there? _Rich boy_? She sounds distraught though, and he can't imagine what she wants with him.

"Alex was arrested," the woman says. "He left his phone here. They only give you one phone call, and I'm the only number he knows, but I can't get him out."

"What do you need? Bail?" He can do that. 

She curses. "I need you to do something! Get them to let him go. This isn't the first time he's been arrested, and the cops hate him. They're charging him higher and trying to put him in prison."

Prison? No. That’s not going to happen. "Where are you?" John asks carefully. She tells him, then gives him the address of the jail where Alex is being held. "I will meet you there in a half hour." He needs that long to be presentable.

Her breath hitches with a sob, just once, then comes back hard. "Don't screw this up, rich boy." The line goes dead.

He moves as if in a dream. _Fix it, rich boy. Do something, for once in your life._ Only he can't exactly waltz in there and hand them a bribe, can he? They don't want the one thing he has in abundance.

_What are you, John Laurens, underneath all that money? Strip it away, and what can you do?_

He pulls on a shirt and jeans with deadened fingers. He can get Alex out. He can. 

He just doesn't want to think about what it will cost.

No time to think of that. He finishes tying his tie, races down the stairs, and hails the first taxi he sees. There's no traffic at this time of night, and soon enough they're pulling up in front of the jail. John gets out, pauses, and then asks the driver to wait.

"Buddy, I have better things to—"

"Keep the meter running," John interrupts him, and hands over two twenties to start. "Please."

"Whatever you want buddy. Go get your girlfriend."

"Boyfriend," John corrects. It feels strange, foreign to his ears. 

"Whatever."

There's a woman in a red dress waiting just inside the door. "Lover boy?"

"John."

“Maria.” She throws herself into his arms. John holds her awkwardly, a little too aware of the breasts pressing against his chest as he pats her on the back. What on earth is he supposed to do? "Tell me what happened."

"We were celebrating," she chokes out. "Sort of. I left my husband, and he got a job, but he was still hung up over you—" She pokes him in the chest accusingly. "As if we haven't heard variations of the same for the past three weeks."

What? Hung up on _him?_ Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? John pushes the thought away; it doesn’t matter right now. "And he got arrested?"

"He wasn't picking anyone up, I _swear_. I sent him out to buy ice cream. But he was wearing those clothes, you know the ones..."

Yes. Yes John does. "And they thought he was soliciting? They didn't listen when he said he was only getting ice cream?" Or listened to Maria, who’s obviously tried to get him out already.

"It's worse than that." She kicks the ground, pulling away from him. "There was this cop, Adams, who patrolled our area. He traded sex for protection. Went after the boys especially, got off on them feeling intimidated," she sees John's expression, amending hastily, "but he never arrested anyone for prostitution, so it was alright. We could deal with it. He got fired, or switched, or _something_ I don't even know. He's gone. And the new cop's got it into his mind he's going to clean the trash off the street."

John's mouth goes dry. "Starting with Alex."

She nods furiously. "He doesn't care Alex has quit; he doesn't care that this is going to wreck his life. He got a _job_ , a real job, it was going to be _different_. He was getting out, and now they’re going to wreck everything. They won't let me see him, I'm so worried..."

"I'll get him out," John says.

"How?"

John takes a deep breath. "By getting them to throw out the charges." Maria just stares at him, uncomprehending, so he shakes his head. If he talks about it any more he’s not going to have the courage to do it.

 _Do it for Alex,_ he thinks to himself. Alex doesn’t deserve this, regardless of where he stands with John. _Let's get this show on the road._ He marches into the police station, Maria at his heels.

"I'm here for Alex," he announces to the first officer he sees, before realizing that he doesn’t actually know Alex’s last name. He’d never mentioned it.

"Hamilton," Maria adds.

"Alexander Hamilton," John repeats, trying to sound like he knows what he’s doing. He's standing up straight, outwardly calm despite his racing heart. He can do this. He's been to enough state dinners and fancy parties to know exactly the attitude that will get him what he wants: superior indifference.

"What do you want with him?" the officer asks, then pivots. "Hey, Lee! Come over here!"

And Charles Lee walks over, looking quite distinguished in his uniform. It's a shock. "John?" he says, startled. They'd spoken at his father’s events, but never been close. Mostly because Lee's a bastard. John distinctly remembers Lee telling people all about his plans for law enforcement once he graduated school. How he’d clean up the streets, stop ‘going soft’ on petty crime, and turn Manhattan into a clean city.

John also remembers not saying anything, ducking his head and excusing himself to get some more punch. Not wanting to cause a scene, however much he had burned to argue.

Well, too late now. John’s certainly going to cause a scene. "Lee," he says slowly. "I need you to release Alexander."

"Why?" Lee scoffs. "How do you even know that trash, John? The little whore, sucking Adams’ dick to avoid getting charged. We've got him this time though; he was in a school zone. That’s a class A misdemeanor, a year in prison."

"I think you're mistaken, Lee," John says flatly. Can Lee hear his heart beating? His breathing quicken with fear? "I need you to release my boyfriend."

"Very funny, John," Lee snorts, then stops short when he sees John isn't laughing. "What on earth do you mean? Was he sucking you off too?"

"I mean, he's my boyfriend," John repeats. "And he wasn't _soliciting_ last night because he was coming to visit me. Last I heard walking around in sexy clothes wasn't a crime, even if it was in a school zone."

Lee stares at him. "John. You're saying you're—"

Slowly, deliberately, John nods. "Alex is my boyfriend. We've been together for months, and I couldn't be happier."

He sees the surprise flash across Lee's face, and then the scorn and anger that follows. "And what happens when I mention that to old Henry, John? He won't like that very much."

"No, he won't," John says simply. He looks Lee right in the eye, to show him that John will not back down from this. It says, _Call my bluff, I dare you._ His father will disown him if Lee tells, but he cares about Alex more. "You want to tell him I'm gay? Fine. Go ahead. But I don't think he'd thank you. Every heard of 'shoot the messenger'? The person that outs his son as a dirty queer..." he clicks his tongue, ignoring the fear shooting through his belly.

One terrifying second—heart pounding, palms sweating—and Lee's face crumples into a frown. "Fine," he snarls. "But I'm not forgetting this."

"I wouldn't expect you to." Lee has something on him now, which is not great. But he's done with being ashamed about who he is.

Lee turns to flag down another officer. "Get the whore in cell three," he says, not sounding any happier. "His _boyfriend's_ here to pick him up."

 _They won't let me see him,_ Maria had said. John hadn't considered what that means—that they might have good reasons.

There's a cut above Alex’s eye, dried blood in his hair. Angry red marks down his neck and arms. Worst of all, he appears to be limping, one hand on his ribs. 

And John sees red. Lee did this, he has no doubt. Lee saw no problem beating a young man he was arresting, a young man who couldn't fight back. He wants to scream at the sight. He wants to _hit Lee back_ , to show him exactly how much it hurts. He wants some damn _justice_ , but justice isn't going to help Alex right now. 

He realizes, suddenly, that Alex doesn't know John just told the world they were dating. As far as Alex knows, John is still the person who shouted awful things and called him a slur. What would happen if he just walks past John and out of the building?

He doesn't have to worry, it turns out. Alex takes two steps and throws his arms around John, burying his face in John's hair. John just holds him for a long moment, reveling in the fact that Alex is here and Alex is okay. 

"Get him out of here," Maria says quietly. John nods, pulling Alex into a position where he can support him as they walk out and sit on the steps of the jail. 

Maria lets Alex stay in John's arms, but crouches in front of him to look him in the eye. "Hey. Hey, dingbat." His eyes focus on her as she keeps talking. "What were you thinking, getting picked up on an ice cream run? Who let you leave the house in those pants, huh?"

Alex lets out a snort, then coughs. "Never did get it." His voice is rough, and he pauses to spit blood onto the pavement.

Maria doesn’t seem phased. "That's okay, I'm sure lover boy will run out. He came and got you, you know. You can stop whining now." Alex manages a shaky smile, and she echos it. "Okay babe, you gotta listen to me right now. Anything broken?"

Alex shakes his head. "Just sore. He got my stomach, not my ribs."

"Do you need to go to the clinic?" Maria asks, still urgent. "Hey, I bet your boyfriend would hold your hand if you wanted to get a rape kit done, and sue those—"

John's stomach turns upside down, but Alex is already shaking his head. "Don't need one. Lee's a monster, but he's too full of himself to put his dick in the trash."

John tightens his arms around Alex. "Don't call yourself that."

Alex rolls his eyes, the motion rolling his head onto John's shoulder. "Take me home?" he asks.

"Yeah. I have a taxi waiting. Your house?" Alex nods, and John looks questioningly at Maria. 

She murmurs an agreement, and all three of them bundle into the cab for the (blessedly short) ride up to East Harlem. As soon as they have Alex deposited on the bed, Maria announces she's going out for a while.

"You need to talk to him," she says plainly. "I am sick and tired of listening to him whine about you."

"Why would he whine about me?" John frowns.

"Oh my god." She rolls her eyes. "I can't deal with either of you. Talk to him, rich boy, and don't screw it up this time."

She pulls on a jacket and leaves, the door slamming shut behind her. Suddenly they’re alone. 

"Alex?" John says and he walks over to the bed. Alex is on it, wrapped up like a burrito. They hadn't even bothered washing the blood off his face, just let him bundle up and get warm. "Do you want me to find a cloth and some gauze...?"

Alex shakes his head. "Maria will do it when she gets back; she always patches me up. Just come here." He opens the blankets, and what can John do besides climb in and pull him close? "Don't fall asleep on me," Alex warns.

"I won't." He lets Alex cuddle back into his chest, one hand stroking over Alex's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Alex mumbles against the fabric of his polo.

"Those things I said, the last time I saw you. How close I came to saying something terrible. Something I didn't mean." The words are hard, awkward to get out, but he does it anyway. It’s important. He can’t let it go unaddressed, even if Alex seems willing to.

"I should be sorry. I'm the one who muddled our relationship, called you, came over late and didn't even- didn't so much as kiss you in thanks."

He looks up and John gets the feeling he might be thinking about it now. "No need for thanks."

"Okay." Alex looks down, then says something else too quiet for him to hear.

"What was that?"

"I said," Alex sets his shoulders, pushing away to face John properly. He looks like he's ready for battle, braced for rejection. "What about just kisses?"

"Oh," John says, eyes widening in shock. This can't be real. It can't be that easy: a quick _I'm sorry_ and all forgiven. Isn't he supposed to _suffer_ more? "Do you mean going back to our arrangement?" Because he can do that. If it'll make Alex happy, he'll do just about anything.

"I'm talking about dating," Alex says. "Actual, honest to god dating. Where none of us is married or awful or paying the other. Just dating."

"Just dating," John echos dimly. It's not processing. Only, some of it must get through because the next thing he knows he's lunging forward to crash their lips together. 

Alex tastes like heaven, like coming home. They kiss and kiss, until Alex shifts and winces as it puts pressure on one of his injuries.

John insists they stop then. "You should get that checked out."

Alex sucks in one breath and lets go of his side. "It's fine."

John frowns. "Is it a cost thing? Because I can easily pay—"

"No, John, I said I _wasn't_ looking for a sugar daddy." To lessen the sting Alex reaches forward and kisses him lightly. "I know what serious injuries feel like. This is some bruising and shallow cuts, okay?"

"Okay. You should really sue though."

Alex shrugs. "Wouldn't go well, with my history. It's enough that they'll leave me alone now. I'm not doing it anymore," he adds, in a different sort of tone.

"Oh?"

"I got a job. Downtown. Fancy one, with Senator Washington."

"I'm glad." Where on earth was he going with this?

"So if you were," Alex says quickly, "wondering, I'm not having sex with people any more. Except you, if you want to."

"Yes," John has to smile. "Yes, I want to date you, and only you. But my father..." He looks down at their entwined hands. "It came really close tonight. I don't want him to know about me until I'm graduated and he can't hurt me anymore." That’s the big hurdle, his father. He would understand if Alex didn’t want to go back into the closet to date him. But if Alex is willing to be vulnerable, to offer everything up, John will try to do the same.

Alex smiles ruefully. "So I'm the secret boyfriend? I can do that." He looks sad though, almost wistful, as his fingers trace over the lines of John’s face.

"Not exactly," John's fingers twist in anxiety. "I don't care if people at school see us, or that our friends know that we're dating. I just don't want it to get back to my dad. So... discreet but honest when necessary boyfriends? Just until I graduate."

"Just until you graduate," Alex murmurs. "And what happens after that?"

"Alex," John says honestly, "I will ride off into the sunset with you wearing nothing but a rainbow flag."

It earns him a kiss. "I may hold you to that," Alex says, and kisses him again. And again.

They're still at it when Maria walks in, making a loud noise of disgust. "Alright, alright, break it up." John flushes. Alex grins.

Maria sets a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream on the counter and makes a show of checking the time on her phone. "Alex, you have three hours until you have to be up for your new job. And that's if lover boy leaves you money for a cab." Alex groans. "Bed! With or without rich boy."

"I'll go." John kisses him one last time. "But I'll... call you tomorrow?"

"Why John," Alex demures. "How forward of you."

“We’re dating,” John kisses him on the forehead. “I’m allowed to be forward.”

They smile at each other for a long moment, until Maria yells “Out! Go to bed!” and John hails a cab back to his apartment.

On the way back, he pulls out his phone.

_To: LAFAYETTE  
I have a boyfriend_

_To: John_  
_FINALLY_  
_Thank god_  
_Did you kiss him_

_To: LAFAYETTE_  
_…_  
_Yes_

_To: John  
Did you TALK to him_

_To: LAFAYETTE  
Yes!_

_To: John  
When do I get to meet him?_

_To: LAFAYETTE  
I will ask him tomorrow_

He stares out the window, thinking. Then, with a sudden moment of inspiration, pulls his phone out. Because Alex will need something to eat while he’s at work, right? With such little sleep, he’s going to need something to keep him going. And an edible fruit arrangement has the added benefit of doubling as a ‘congratulations’ and ‘I love you’ gift.

He sends the order off as the cab turns into Morningside Heights. Come to think about it, he can probably skip class tomorrow too. He only has one lecture and an evening lab. And the only thing better than an edible arrangement is someone to share it with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is [here](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/) and I love talking to people so hit me up. The next chapter is our last one, an epilogue of sorts for the boys.
> 
> And, as always, comment and kudos are loved to keep me motivated.


	10. Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _John’s looking at him like he’s an idiot. “You just… go out. Go outside. And do things.” He hesitates, wetting his lips. “Alex, have you really never been on a date before?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Chloe](http://unforgivingemotions.tumblr.com/), who beta'd this fic
> 
> Here we go guys! Last chapter. I'm sorry it took so long, mental health happened

At seven pm on Friday, Alex is sitting on his counter top and swinging his legs. For once, he’s not going out tonight; John is picking him up.

“Do I look ok?” Pierre asks, ducking out of the bathroom.

“Hold on.” Alex reaches over, brushes a piece of hair to the side. “There we go.”

“I just want to look nice, you know? This is an important one.” Pierre fidgets. It’s adorable. “I should leave soon, the dinner reservation is for 7:30, but it’s not far–”

Alex can’t help but grin. “No harm in being early, just calm down and try to enjoy yourself,” he reminds him. “And Pierre?” Alex calls as his friend is pulling on a jacket.

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday.” Alex tosses him a package, badly wrapped in newspaper.

Pierre holds the package for a moment, examining it, and then pretends to swoon. “It _must_ be that new phone I wanted. Alex, you shouldn’t have.”

Alex snorts. “I didn’t. Ask Friedrich for one.”

Pierre huffs out a laugh, one that trails off into something heavier. He frowns, staring down at the present.

“I mean, I know it’s not the Taj Mahal, but it’s not that bad…” Alex jumps off the counter, suddenly concerned. “You okay, kid?” He understands Pierre’s anxiety, he really does. In this line of work, getting older isn’t necessarily a good thing. Especially when one’s longstanding arrangement has a long history of ditching people once they start showing their age.

“I’m fine,” Pierre says, shaking his head. 

“I know you are.” And he is– Pierre is one of the most resilient people he knows. He’ll make it through whatever the world throws at him, but that doesn’t mean Alex wants to see one of his good friends go through another bit of heartache.

_And you just made it worse, dumping your own emotions on him while you were fighting with John_. He shouldn’t have said those things before, shouldn’t have told Pierre that his relationship wasn’t going to last just because he was bitter about his own not working out. Alex tries for a light tone as he says, “You have fun with Friedrich. Tell him I say hi, and that I am not, in fact, interested in a threesome. _I_ need a few more birthdays, so he’ll leave me alone.”

Pierre smiles, accepting the reassurance; he’s eighteen, sure, but he’s not old yet. It’s the best Alex can do. “I don’t feel like sharing tonight anyways.”

Alex ruffles his hair, ignoring the sound of protest, and that’s when he hears a car honk on the street. “That’s my ride. Have fun with Friedrich!”

He races down the stairs, leaving Pierre’s shouted goodbye in his wake. 

“Hey babe,” he says when he gets into the shiny car.

“Hey.” John’s grinning ear to ear. As he pulls away from the curb, one hand drifts over to hold Alex’s.

It’s adorable, and Alex can’t help but tease him. He _tsks_ his tongue. “Getting friendly, are we? I will have you know I am a _gentleman_.”

“A gentleman?” John snorts.

“Absolutely.” Alex moves their clasped hands until they’re resting on John’s leg. 

There’s a flush riding high on John’s cheeks. “A gentleman who definitely doesn’t have sex on the first date.”

Alex moves their hands up higher. “Never. That wouldn’t be classy.”

“Especially not,” John’s breath hitches, “underwater.”

“Did you like that?” Alex murmurs, hand twisting out of John’s to start tracing the seams of his jeans. The car’s speed stutters. “We could do it again.”

“Home it is,” John agrees breathlessly. Then he groans. “Wait. Nevermind. Laf is waiting at home. He brought his new boyfriend over for movie night.”

Alex lets out a sound of frustration. When he’d agreed to double-date-movie-night, he hadn’t expected John to show up looking so damn cute. Or be so horny.

“One movie and we hustle them out?” he suggests.

“You read my mind.”

If they kiss in the elevator, that’s no one’s business but theirs. Even if the kisses turn into groping, turning into licking, turning into Alex slamming John against the doors and both of them tumbling out when they reach the fifth floor.

“That never happened,” John pants, trying desperately to rearrange his pants.

Alex smirks, patting down his own hair. “Sure. You might want to do something about–” he gestures to the obvious bulge in John’s pants. John flips him the bird.

It takes a careful fifteen minutes of _not_ touching each other and _not_ thinking about each other before John finally pushes open the door. “Laf?”

The man is relaxed on John’s prissy white sofa. “Mon ami, finally. I’ve been waiting!” 

John flushes. “Sorry, there was a holdup.”

“A holdup?” One eyebrow raises in suspicion. “With your charming boyfriend? I would _never_ have believed–”

“Laf!” John cuts him off sharply. “This is my boyfriend, Alex. Alex, this is Lafayette.”

“Nice to meet you,” Alex says cautiously. He holds out a hand, but Lafayette pulls him into a hug. “I am very glad that John figured out his issues; we were all tired of hearing about them. Please be welcome.”

His accent is thickly French, so Alex takes a chance and switches languages. _”Thank you, it is nice to meet you too,”_ he says. His French is more formal than his English (unlike his Spanish, which is positively filthy), and he still trips over the occasional phrase, but introductions are easy.

Lafayette grins, turning to John and spitting out rapid-fire French. _"I didn’t know he spoke it! We must invite him over the next time we watch Trois Couleurs._ ”

“ _Non_ ,” John groans, sounding pained. He wraps both arms around Alex’s waist just as the man who is presumably Lafayette’s new boyfriend steps out of the bathroom. Alex stares.

“Laf, man, are you spouting off French again? Because you know I don’t...” Hercules stops, voice trailing off as he looks up to meet Alex’s shocked gaze.

He should have known, intellectually, that one of these days he was going to run into someone he’d slept with for money. Especially considering the fact that his main demographic had been closeted college kids, and he is now dating one.

He certainly isn’t, however, expecting to meet one _here_ , in John’s apartment, apparently dating John’s friend.

“This is Hercules!” Lafayette says, leaning over to press a kiss to the man’s cheek. _I know_ , Alex wants to say, but he doesn’t want to bring his former job up in front of them. Does Lafayette know? God, what if Hercules was dating Lafayette when he picked Alex up?

Hercules rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I, er, it’s nice to meet you,” he tries.

John looks from Hercules to Alex, frowning, and then comprehension blooms on his face. “Alex. Is he...did you...?”

Well. No use trying to hide it. "It may have happened," Alex admits.

"Just once," Hercules adds quickly. "I didn't know he was..."

"What? Un _prostitué_?" Lafayette laughs delightedly, not bothered in the slightest. In fact, the only one who seems uncomfortable is John. His boyfriend seems to be even more a prude than Alex was expecting. "Was this a random hook up?" Lafayette asks.

"No!" Alex protests, in case the implication hurts John, who’s sputtering beside him. "He was a client."

"I didn't know he was dating someone," Hercules clarified. 

John is still staring at Alex. "You had sex with Laf's boyfriend?" he asks, and there’s definitely a bit of an accusation in there.

"I didn't know he was Laf's boyfriend at the time!" Alex turns to Hercules. "You weren't dating him then, were you?" Hercules shakes his head. "There. I had sex with the person who would _later become_ Laf's boyfriend."

John frowns as he thinks it over, then he turns on Hercules. "You paid my boyfriend for sex?!"

"Big deal!" Hercules looks startled at being so accused. "So did you!"

Lafayette is laughing so hard he can hardly hold himself up, Hercules looks so startled, and John is a mix of jealous and uncomfortable. It's ridiculous, and Alex starts to smile.

"Ah," Lafayette wipes a tear from his eye. "We will get along fine I think, Alex. Now tell me, how was Hercules?"

He starts laughing again, and his boyfriend lets out a sound of mortification.

Alex ignores John’s shifting weight beside him. He grins wide, showing his teeth. "Lafayette, I think you'll have no complaints."

"Can we _please_ do something else now?" John breaks in. “It’s fine, it really is, but do we have to talk about it?”

“We will solve the difficulty for you.” Lafayette reaches out to Hercules. “Mon amour? Date night?”

“Sure,” Hercules ducks his head ruefully. “I guess we can do movies and polite conversation another night.”

“Take your boy out, John Laurens,” Lafayette advises as he grabs his coat and leaves with Hercules in tow.

“Do you want to go out?” John asks, once they’re alone in the apartment.

Alex considers it. He associates ‘going out’ with Angel, with large productions and a drain on his time and energy, not something he does for fun. 

But then, John probably wants to go out. He probably expects to go out at some point in their relationship, to show Alex off and do the things that normal couples do. “We can,” he hedges, “but I don’t have anything planned.” Maybe John will leave it alone for tonight.

John just blinks, settling down into his ridiculous sofa. “We don’t have to plan anything. We can just go out.”

“Yeah, sure, but what are we going to do? How does that make it going out?” They had no dinner reservations, no well planned route to clubs, no tickets for shows.

John’s looking at him like he’s an idiot. “You just… go out. Go outside. And do things.” He hesitates, wetting his lips. “Alex, have you really never been on a date before?”

Like John is describing? No. “I took Angel out to dinner and dancing and things.”

“But she was paying you to do that. Did you ever do that with her when she wasn’t paying?”

“No.” He thinks harder. Honestly, most of his relationships have either been as someone’s side piece or someone’s paid side piece, discretion mandatory. “Sometimes Thom picked me up from school and we’d have sex in the back of his car?”

“That’s not a date,” John winces.

Alex juts out his chin. “It sort of was! He bought me McDonald’s.”

“Ok. We are going out. I am taking you out on a real, honest-to-God date.” John pulls off his shirt, snagging a smart polo down from his room. “Lots of places don’t need a reservation, we’ll make it up as we go.”

“I’m under-dressed,” Alex protests. He looks fine, but he’s wearing regular jeans and a button down. Not even a nice jacket. 

John kisses him. “You’re perfect. Let’s go!”

He pulls Alex to his feet. Laughing, Alex follows him outside and into the softly falling snow. “Okay, if you’re the expert. Where are we going?”

“I wouldn’t call myself an expert.” John wrinkles his nose and seems to pick a direction, tugging Alex along by their entwined hands. “This is kind of my first date too.”

“Oh?” Normally Alex would tease him for that, acting all shocked about Alex’s dating history while his own was similarly lacking. But for now he just smiles, enjoying the mood. The buildings are all tall and old, their imperfections washed away by a light dusting of snow. It’s cold, but not frigid–just enough that he can lean into John as they walk under the pretext of staying warm.

“Well,” John fumbles. “I sort of dated this guy in high school? Frank. We had biology together. But we were both in the closet, so we couldn’t really date. Then I moved here, and I just–”

“Paid for sex.”

“Well yeah, if you want to say it like that. Here!” As they turn the corner John picks up his pace, heading towards a modern looking bistro. “Nice, but not too fancy.”

It was clearly a student hang out: for every couple that seemed to be out on a date, there were several sitting alone with propped open books or in small study groups. But it’s bright and cheery, and the food Alex sees en route to a table looks magnificent. So he lets John get them a table near the door, ordering the duck at John’s recommendation.

Slowly he relaxes, lulled by the gentle music and easy conversation. This feels nothing like his evenings with Angel. For every question he asked, John asks him one back. What’s more, he actually seems _interested_ in the answers, pushing Alex to elaborate until he’s telling a ridiculous story about losing his best pants at Maria’s house and trying to demand that Pierre tell him where they were.

He’s so relaxed, in fact, that he doesn’t notice the couple coming in until they’ve already approached.

“Laurens!” cries the man, reaching out to clasp John’s hand in his. He looks like the idiots Alex is used to seeing around the university; wealthy and white and obnoxious as hell.

“Church,” John nods at him, retracting his hand as soon as he can. “And who is this?”

Church shifts out of the way, and Alex finds himself face to face with Angelica Schuyler.

“Angelica Schuyler,” Church introduces her, not noticing the way she’s frozen in place. Does he really not notice? “My girlfriend.”

Alex looks from Angelica's horrified gaze to the smug grin of her boyfriend. "And how long have you been dating?" he asks pleasantly.

Angelica bites her lip. Church says, "About a year, isn't it? My, the time flies. It seems like just yesterday I was in undergrad. Do you know where you're going yet, Laurens?"

"I was thinking of working with a non-profit, actually," John says, and the two begin to chat. It doesn't matter, it's all wind in Alex's ears. He's staring at Angelica, and she's staring back at him; he sees the fear and longing in her eyes.

Fear because he can ruin her, right here. All it would take are a few simple words about how Angelica Schuyler had been cheating on her college boyfriend with a bisexual hooker, everything she feared coming true.

It would certainly be cosmic retribution for the cold way she had broken things off. What stops Alex is the longing in her eyes; the certainty that, had she felt she had a choice, she would be with him. It's not love–Alex knows what love looks like now. But she wants him, and she wants all the things he used to provide for her. She wants the image of him she has in her head. 

He reaches across the table to take John's hands in his, and Angelica's face shutters. No emotion as she braces herself. "Mr Church," Alex says pleasantly, "might you excuse us? John and I are on a date, and I don't want to lose a second of time with him."

John turns with a dopey smile. "Get lost, Church," he summarizes.

"Oh! I didn't think you were–well I didn't know–there's nothing wrong with–you have a good day," Church fumbles, and leads Angelica away. 

Alex can feel her eyes on the back of his head all through the meal, laughing and talking with John. He ignores it; she has what she wanted, and he doesn't owe her anything. He picks up the bill before John can get to it; with his first paycheck from Washington deposited yesterday, he can afford in. On the way out he rests his head on John's shoulder.

John drives him home and they idle on the street, unwilling to part. Alex busies himself with stealing every kind of kiss he can before John leaves. "That was magical," he says, as he kisses the underside of John's jaw.

John's breathing is getting laboured, but he still makes an effort to try to talk. "It was," he pants, fingers twisting in Alex's nice button down. "We should... do it more often. Alex..."

"Hm?" Alex leans up, because that does sound like a question. 

"Do you have,” John's eyes are a little glassy, his lips swollen, his hair a mess: the very picture of debauchery, "rules about this?"

"About what?" Alex grins, leaning back into to kiss him slow and dirty.

"About me taking you upstairs to continue this somewhere more comfortable?"

“Why John,” Alex murmurs, even as he feels a dart of white-hot excitement run through him. “I did say I was a gentleman…” John whines, and Alex placates him with a kiss on the lips. “...but I suppose allowances might be made.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and Alex went to [Flat Top](http://www.flattopnyc.com/) and it's beautiful there
> 
> If you liked this story, if you sympathize with Alex and John and don't believe they should be criminalized or restricted for engaging in sex work (Or purchasing such), I urge everyone to check out amnesty international's work protecting the rights of sex workers [here](https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2015/08/sex-workers-rights-are-human-rights/). They created their policies in consultation with sex workers, and the policies are developed to protect their rights above all.
> 
> If you liked this story and would like to read _more_ , I have one shots in the verse and will be taking more through my tumblr [here](http://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/). Come shoot me a prompt, tell me which prompt you'd like to see first, or just say hi. I like talking to people.
> 
> And, as always, comment and kudos are loved. See you at the next fic! It is in development, and I'm very happy with the drafts... :)


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